The World Is Spinning Backwards
by emoprincess37
Summary: Prequel to my Sherlock fics. The story of how Sherlock met the American girl Emmaline Johnson on a flight from New York to London and proceeded to fall head over heels for her, and she for him. The romance won't be easy what with Sherlock getting in his own way, and monsters under the bed frightening them both. But the fight will be worth it. SherlockXoc. Rated M for Chapter 31
1. Chapter 1: The Funeral

Chapter 1: The Funeral

Emmaline Johnson hated Tuesdays. On a Tuesday, her Father had left her Mother and moved away. On a Tuesday Emmaline's first boyfriend had broken up with her saying she was too 'clingy'. On a Tuesday, her mother had been hit by a drunk driver and killed on impact. The following Tuesday was her mother's funeral.

Emmaline Johnson had good reason to hate Tuesdays. At fifteen years old, she had lost the most important person in her life to a freak motor vehicle accident; the kind that never happened in the small town of Marfa Texas.

Emmaline and her mother were not from Texas – which explained their lack of the southern accent. Originally, they were from Chicago. However, when her bum dad had left, they had had to move. Therefore, at the age of ten her mother had packed up her and her things to move to the tiny artistic town.

Now five years later Emmaline stood before a closed coffin trying to imagine her mother as being inside. It was difficult to do. Just one beer too many and an idiot in a truck had taken away the only family Emma had left. Now she was alone – an orphan.

She still had a dad, who would be taking her to live with him in New York. Emma was sure it would not last very long. She had not seen her father in almost six years. She had no desire to see him now. Emma placed her fingers on the feeble wooden box and said her last goodbyes.

Fidgeting in her cheap black dress, Emma waited patiently while the priest conducted the simple service. She could see people's eyes on hers in the front row, boring into her back. She hated being the center of her attention. She hated being here.

As soon as the service was over, she ran from the small church. She ran down back streets until she reached what was left of her measly apartment. Most of her things were packed or sold. She only had two small suitcases of belongings left to her name now.

Emmaline curled up in a ball on the floor and began to cry, choked sobs escaping her chest. Rage curled around her throat like thorns. How could this have happened to her? How could anyone be so cruel as to do this to her?

She wiped her eyes and nose on the sleeve of her dress – a Christmas gift from when she was thirteen. Most of her mother's artwork had been sold to buy Emma's plane ticket to New York; her father had refused to pay, or to pick her up. She would have to find her own way to his apartment.

One photograph remained – one of her and her mother sitting on the couch giggling. It had been taken when Emmaline was twelve – one of the only good moments from the time around that age. Emma shuddered, not wanting to remember.

She packed up the photo and shouldered her bag. Her flight left in a few hours and she still had to drive to a major city airport in the cab she had booked last week.

"Goodbye Mommy." She whispered to the empty apartment. Emma closed the door on her old life.

ᶓ

"So you found it alright?" Paul Johnson called from the couch, his feet propped on the coffee table.

Emmaline, shivering, stepped into the darkened apartment. "Yeah, just fine Paul."

"Hey, come in here. I need to talk to you."

Emma sighed but walked into the room. She nervously eyed the beer her dad was drinking. She had been at the mercy of drunken men before.

"I talked to your grandparents on the phone – your maternal grandparents, in London." He continued.

"Oh." Emma nodded, not understanding where he was going.

"They want you to come and live with them instead, and I think it's a good idea. In fact, I already contacted the courts about it. They sent over documents for me to sign, and I already have and faxed them to your grandparents. I am taking them in tomorrow and they should be signed by a judge in about a week. So do not get comfortable."

Emma was shocked. She had not expected to enjoy being here, but her dad shoving her off before she had even arrived? Emma turned mechanically from the room and walked out to an empty bedroom that looked unoccupied.

"You can stay in that room until we book you a flight to London!"

Emmaline buried her head in the threadbare pillow and began to cry. The world was not fair. Only a week before she was displaced again? Did no one want her? These grandparents did apparently but she had never met them. She wanted her mommy back.

Her mommy who understood her, who loved her. The mommy who knew every dark little thing that had ever happened and _still _loved her. The mommy who did not judge her for all Emma's faults.

"I miss you Mommy."

Emmaline curled up on the bed and sobbed quietly into her pillow before falling into a fitful sleep.


	2. Chapter 2: Stranger on the Plane

**A/N: To the anonymous reviewer: thank you, and here's your quick update! Of course she'll be smart – Sherlock couldn't love a dull person! **

Chapter 2: Stranger on the Plane

Emma hefted her carry-on into the over-head luggage space and sat down with a huff in her seat. She looked out the window and tried to wait patiently for take-off. As patiently as she could anyway – her father had after all practically shipped her off without trying to get to know her.

Emma stretched her pale legs out before her. She was not sure what the weather would be like in London but she had chosen to wear shorts and red Doc Marten's with her favorite Nirvana tee. A brilliant way to say, "I don't want to be here."

"Oh good god."

She looked up at the intruding male voice only to find someone stuffing a bag in the compartment above her seat. He looked disdainfully down at her before taking the aisle seat next to hers.

Emmaline could not help but to stare – he was a very strange looking man. He had a long face and nose and Cupid's bow mouth – not to mention the alarming paleness of his skin.

"Did your Mother not teach you that staring is rude, little girl?"

Emmaline's brow rose but she turned her head to look out the plane window. So not only was he strange looking, but apparently quite rude and _British. _

"My apologies; how long has she been dead?"

Emma's head whipped around to look at the man. He appeared emotionless, yet his voice had been…sad.

"What are you talking about?" She asked carefully.

"Your Mother; how long has she been dead?"

"Thirteen days." Emma looked at the man more carefully.

He seemed completely normal – if not a bit alien – in his dark wash jeans and white button-up shirt.

"How did you know, if you don't mind me asking?"

The man looked at her strangely. "So she has manners, does she?"

"She also has a name. Emmaline Johnson, though I prefer Emma."

"Sherlock Holmes." He shook her proffered hand. "To answer your question, I observed. Plenty of people see; it's the observing that is difficult for them to do."

"What did you observe?"

The man, Sherlock, looked at her for a moment before opening his mouth to speak.

"I observed _you_. Your eyes are red, suggesting you have been crying recently. In your jacket pocket is a package of tissues – obviously someone important to you. There is also only one ticket there, travelling by yourself so no guardian to speak of. Clearly, you have lost of one of your parents. I know it is your Mother because when I mentioned her earlier your eyes started to water. This brought on my inquiry of when your Mother had died. Simple."

"What is that?" Emmaline asked in wonder.

"Deduction." He said a smug smile on his face.

"Do it again." She requested.

"What? Why?" He asked, brow cocked.

"It could have been a lucky guess. _Deduce _something else." She asked.

This was taking her mind off her mother and she was finding this to be an easy way to pass the time. The man was interesting enough for a plane ride.

"You are staying with your grandparents in London, am I correct?" He asked, another smug smile suggesting he knew he was right.

"Yes. How did you know that?"

"You're fidgety which suggests nervousness, obvious. Your outfit choice seems to say you do not want to meet these people, because you are _meeting _them but you have also put an outfit together, well. Therefore, these people are important. You are not meeting your father in London because a man dropped you off here – and that is not cheating, it is observing. The only logical next step would be grandparents or an aunt. An aunt would have been met earlier one assumes, so grandparents."

"That is incredible." Emma whispered awestruck.

Sherlock stared straight ahead, struck with pride. Of course, it was incredible. He did not need a little girl telling him that.

"What else?" She asked eagerly, as the plane lifted off from the tarmac.

Sherlock sighed. "Are you going to annoy me all the way to London?"

"Most definitely." Emma smiled at the man sitting next to her.

Emmaline needed a worthy distraction from thoughts of her mother. She had planned to sleep through most of the plane ride, but this was much more entertaining.

"Very well." Sherlock sighed heavily but inside he was quite pleased.

Usually the Police used him to solve their crimes and then tossed him away. None of them were interested in what he could actually _do _with his fantastic mind, except for maybe Lestrade.

"You're an artist. Looks like maybe charcoal and paint are your mediums. You seem to think you're good based on the amount of time you spend painting."

"I am good thank you very much." Emmaline smiled softly to herself and looked out the plane window.

"Not going to ask how I know?"

"Why? You got it right – and you've already proven you can do it."

Sherlock did not reply; instead, he settled into his seat. Emma looked down at her lap, at her hands. There was old charcoal stuck under her fingernails and paint had stained the pads of her fingers.

"How did you know I paint frequently?" She asked, curious.

"The callouses on your fingers. After finding out you are an artist, one can quite easily assume they were made from holding a paint brush for hours on end."

"That really is amazing." Emma told him.

He did not say anything. As the plane cruised silently in the air, slicing through the clouds, she took the time to look at him from the corner of her eye. He really was strange looking. Not at all her type. Not that she had been considering it – he looked old.

Emmaline shook her head and turned back to the window. They had been in the air for perhaps an hour, and the man had not said anything for maybe thirty minutes. His eyes were closed so Emmaline assumed he was asleep, and would not want to be disturbed.

She stretched her legs out before her and drummed her fingers on her bare thighs. It was a song her mother had often sung to her as a child to get her to go to bed – and whenever Emma was scared. After a few minutes, she found herself singing quietly to it under her breath.

_"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are gray. You'll never know dear, how much I love you…please don't take my Sunshine away." _

Emma finished quietly and stopped tapping the rhythm. With a sigh, she leaned her head back against the airplane seat. She missed her mother more than anything. There would be no one around to sing that song for her anymore – no one to keep her safe from the monsters. Her eyes began to tear up as she tightened her hands in her lap.

Biting her lip, she tried to keep the flow of tears back but it was impossible. She missed her mommy and wanted to be back in Texas, in their apartment with her. She wanted her mommy to tell her that whatever she was working on was 'simply amazing'. Emma wanted to hear the familiar camera shutter click that meant her mother was photographing something. She wanted to be locked out of the bathroom for hours while her mother turned it into a darkroom. Emma wanted to smell the strawberry shampoo when she buried her face in her mother's hair because she had had a nightmare. She wanted to go to an art show and have her mother review everything with a smile on her face. Emma just wanted to see that smile again.

"Oh do shut up."

Emma's sobs faltered as she looked up. "Excuse me?"

"Your crying is sincerely annoying."

"Well I'm so sorry." Emma bit back sarcastically.

"Good." Sherlock settled back into his seat.

"That was sarcasm you doofus!" She whispered vehemently.

Sherlock sat up and looked at the crying girl. She seemed genuinely upset, the tears running down her face. Honestly, Sherlock would never understand sentiment in others. He had never understood why others felt the need to cry over someone's death.

With a sigh, he reached for the tissues in her jacket pocket. As soon as his hand lifted and reached for her Emma instinctively backed up. She moved as far back from him as her seat would allow, her heart racing.

"What are you doing?"

"I was getting your tissues." Sherlock cocked his head at her curious reaction.

"I can get them myself."

Emma carefully sat back down in her seat and removed the package of tissues from her pocket. Had this man really been reaching for something in _her _jacket? He seemed strange enough to actually do it.

"Would you like to be distracted?" He asked.

"How?" She asked cautiously.

"You aren't wondering why an Englishman from London is in New York?"

"I figured you were a tourist. But you don't really seem the tourist type."

"I was here on business. I'm a Consulting Detective – the only one in the world."

"How can you be the only one?" Emma asked curiously.

She waited patiently for his answer and wiped her eyes dry with the tissues before blowing her nose.

"Well, I invented the job." Sherlock said as if the answer was obvious.

"Alright Mr. Consulting Detective – why were you in New York?" Emma settled into her seat and watched as the young man spoke.

"I was called in to help with a case. A mysterious death."

Emma waited for a moment but he did not elaborate.

"Is that all?"

"Well it turned out to not be very interesting – turns out the chap killed himself."

"And that's not interesting?"

"Not the way he did it."

Emma laughed and shook her head. "You are the strangest person I have ever met."

Sherlock did not say anything. A tight smile had formed on his lips.

"No – I meant that in a good way. It's…refreshing."

"Why did you flinch? When I came near you?" Sherlock turned his head so his gaze could bore into her.

"You're a stranger."

"But that's not it; there's something else."

"You are a stranger, and I'm not telling."

"Well, give me time." Sherlock smiled lazily before putting his fingers against his lips in thought.

"How old are you? Because you look young."

"Twenty-four."

Emmaline's eyes widened. He was nine years older than she was, and they were carrying on a casual conversation.

"How old are you?" He asked, not turning to look at her.

"Fifteen. I'll be sixteen next month."

"Hmm." Sherlock made a non-committal noise.

She looked slightly older than fifteen, perhaps seventeen, and she acted older as well. Sherlock had already pegged her as a minor since she was in need of a guardian; however, he thought she would be off to university in a year or two.

"Oh that's poor form." Sherlock whispered to himself.

"What?" Emma leaned over, closer to him.

Sherlock looked at her curiously out of the corner of his eye. She had no problem initiating close contact, but when someone else tried, she became nervous. Interesting.

"You see the man in between those two females, a row up from us? The woman on his left is his wife, the one on right his mistress."

"You're joking." Emma whispered, incredulously.

"Clearly he likes his mistress more, body language suggests so. Do you see what I mean?" Sherlock asked.

"His body is facing hers, not his wife."

"Very good. Simple, but good."

"Oh thank you." Emmaline said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "Who else?" She inquired.

"Who else what?"

"Deduce something else – I'm bored."

Sherlock risked a glance at the young girl. Her eyes were still red and puffy, and she looked sad. Her fingers were unconsciously gripping the edge of her shirtsleeve and her fingers were again drumming the song rhythm on her thigh. She was not bored – she was on the verge of tears again.

"See that man up there?"

ᶓ

"That's the fourth time that stewardess has asked you if you need anything." Emma pointed out.

"Yes, so?" Sherlock asked, opening his bag of peanuts.

"She _likes _you." Emmaline giggled and popped a peanut in her mouth.

"What does that mean?"

"You don't know what liking someone means?" Emma asked in surprise.

"I have no reason to – it's not important."

"What is important?"

Sherlock huffed before shoving a small handful of peanuts in his mouth and chewing.

"Anything related to my work. Facts and statistics and the composition of gravel."

"How is the composition of gravel relevant to anything?"

"You would be surprised."

Emma smiled at his raised eyebrow and the gleam in his eye. Over the last six hours of strange conversation – the strangest conversation she had ever had – she had noticed something. Sherlock got excited when talking about his work, or his intelligence. Or anything related to him in a positive manner.

He seemed not to understand anything involving emotion, or as he called it, 'sentiment'. Which was somewhat nice for Emma. For the past thirteen days all anyone had said to her was how awful it was that her mother had died, and that she could cry if she needed to.

Her father had been indifferent and drunk the whole six days she had stayed with him. Sherlock was different – he understood, she thought. But he also did not care very much. But he was distracting her so she did not have to think of it either, which was nice.

The pilot came on over the loudspeaker announcing their descent and the necessity of their seatbelts. The stewardess' came around making sure that everyone was properly buckled, and the one who had been eyeing Sherlock made a beeline for their aisle.

She leaned over him to make sure Emma was securely tucked in, her lean form hanging over Sherlock's lap. Emmaline watched him out of the corner of her eye and was surprised that he did not show anything – no surprise, no anxiety, and no anger.

The buxom blonde seemed offended as she trotted off with a 'huff'.

"Sherlock, I think you hurt her feelings." Emma giggled at his shrug of indifference.

"Why are you staying with your grandparents Emmaline, if you have a father?"

"Can't deduce it?" Emma asked sourly.

"Some things, no."

"My dad didn't want me. He wanted to ship me off so he didn't have to deal with me." Emma shrugged.

"I understand."

"Do you?" Emma turned to look at him sharply.

Her angry retort died on her lips when she saw the look in his blue-green eyes.

"My father didn't want me either." He whispered, more to himself.

Emmaline wanted to reach a hand out but she did not. This man was a stranger; and she thought any sign of affection would drive him up the wall. So she kept her hands in her lap. They sat in silence for the rest of the descent and until the plane landed.

When it was okay to get off the plane, Sherlock helped her with her bag and ushered her off the plane ahead of other people.

"Thank you." She said, as he led her into the baggage pick-up terminal.

"It's nothing."

Emmaline did not feel that it was nothing; she got the impression that he did not often do this for others. She reached down off the trolley and picked up her other bag.

"The lobby is this way – you said your grandparents were picking you up?"

"Yeah, they are."

Emma followed him out of the luggage area and up stairs to the main level – and the entrance to the airport. A little ways away she could see an elderly couple holding a sign with her name on it.

"This is where I leave you." Sherlock said, looking outside.

"It was nice meeting you. And thank you, for the distractions." Emma said sincerely.

She nodded curtly and picked up her bags. She had taken a few steps when Sherlock told her to 'wait'.

"My card." He handed her a white business card. "In case you need any more…distractions."

"Thank you Sherlock. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again."

"Goodnight Emmaline." He nodded his head before walking off in the opposite direction.

Emma smiled softly to herself before taking her bags and walking over to her grandparents.

"I'm Emma." She said when she got over to them.

"Oh dear!" Her grandma rushed forward to hug her tightly.

Her grandfather took her bags and led them outside to their car. They were silent, awkwardly so. Emma was tired and did not want to deal with their grief – they had lost a daughter. All she wanted to do was get some sleep.

As soon as they pulled up to the apartment, she patiently waited for the old couple to open the door. It was nicely furnished and looked expensive. After she got a good night's rest she'd have to explore the apartment.

Her grandfather gathered her bags and put them in a small bedroom in the back of the apartment.

"We'll have plenty of time to talk tomorrow dear. You must be tired."

"Thanks grandma."

Emma kissed her grandma's cheek and quietly shut the door. She kicked off her shoes and plopped down on the bed. She felt around in her jacket until she found the business card from Sherlock Holmes.

It was a simple white card with silver foil outline. The front read:

Sherlock Holmes

Consulting Detective

She turned it over and read his phone number, address, and website. She would have to see if her grandparents had a computer so she could look at it tomorrow.

Emma put the card on her nightstand and turned the lamp off. As the room was washed in darkness, she burrowed under the covers and tried to fall asleep in the strange place.

**A/N: I'm beginning to realize how creepy this might be – a fifteen year old girl hanging out with a twenty-four year old guy. And the fact that it's Sherlock does **_**not **_**help. Oh well – these are their ages when they met. **


	3. Chapter 3: A Week Spent Lonely

**A/N: Thanks for all the readers! Just a note, on my profile page I've linked to a Pinterest board that will contain Emmaline's outfits for this story, so go check it out! I add to it every time she wears something new. **

Chapter 3: A Week Spent Lonely

Emma sighed and rolled over in her bed. It was Wednesday, and had officially been eight days since she had moved in with her grandparents. She had been allowed to go shopping with her grandmother for a new wardrobe and toiletries the third day she had been there.

Emmaline had been surprised to learn her grandparents were actually quite wealthy. They had an inheritance from her grandfather's dead dad, and both of them had had quite illustrious careers.

As a result, Emma's wardrobe was bigger than she was used to. She felt slightly uncomfortable having such high-end clothes but her grandmother had insisted on it. They had even given Emma a credit card with a $500 a month limit for "seeing friends." As soon as she got friends.

Emma rolled over onto her stomach and reached for the business card on her nightstand. She had not seen the mysterious man Sherlock Holmes since they had sat next to each other on the plane to London. The emotional talks with her grandparents and her boredom made her think about calling him.

On more than one occasion, she had considered phoning him to hang out but then she thought about how strange that sounded. True, the man _had _been strange. However, she was fifteen, and he was twenty-four. Not that anything was going on, or that she was thinking about it, but hanging out with a grown man just seemed to be a strange thing to do.

She put the card in her back pocket and got out of bed. If she did call him, her grandparents could not know about it. They would think she was some sort of weirdo, wanting to hang out with a grown man. They would probably call the police on him and ban her from ever leaving the flat. Emma tugged on her new red sneakers and walked out into the main room.

"I'm going out for a little while."

"OK dearie. But stick nearby, since you don't know the area." Her grandmother insisted.

"Alright Grandma Vicky." Emma kissed her cheek and did the same for her grandfather before leaving the flat.

On the doorstep, she checked that her purse had her keys and wallet in it. She pulled a few loose coins from the bottom of the bag and trotted down the street to a phone booth. Emma had been surprised, and happy, to learn that London still used the red phone booths like in the films.

She inserted the change and dialed the number from the back of the card. He answered on the fourth ring.

"Sherlock Holmes." He said.

"Hello, Sherlock? It's Emma…we met on the plane last week?" She started nervously.

He took a moment to reply. In that moment, a thousand answers flew through Emma's mind. _What if he doesn't want to hang out? What if he says he does not remember me? What if he thinks I am calling because I _like _him? Which, I most certainly do _not.

"Emmaline. What do you want?" His voice sounded normal enough to calm her worries.

"I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee, have a chat." She said casually.

"Are your grandparents getting on your nerves?"

"They're nice enough people. But I just need someone to talk to who doesn't expect me to cry." She said truthfully.

"Did you have anywhere in mind?"

Emmaline looked around outside the phone booth for a coffee shop. "Yeah there's a place – Nonni's Tea Emporium."

"I'll meet you there in ten minutes."

He hung up abruptly leaving Emma feeling happy. Finally, she would get to talk to someone who was not expecting her to burst out in random tears, and who would not put up with it if she did.

Emma stepped out of the phone booth and rushed across the street to the teashop. Entering she was greeted by cool air and the refreshing smell of brewing tea and coffee. Emma had always hated tea, so was glad they had coffee to drink as well.

She got in the short line at the front counter and ordered a cup of mocha and a slice of chocolate biscotti. She picked a spot in the back of the small shop, a small round table flanked by two beige leather armchairs.

Eight minutes later, she ordered another cup of coffee and biscotti from the barista. Just as it was arriving, Sherlock walked into the teashop. She watched his eyes wander over the occupants until his gaze settled on her. He nodded in her direction and got in line at the counter.

She waited patiently while he got his tea and walked over to her, sitting in the chair opposite.

"This is rather cozy." He commented, drinking in the surroundings.

The walls were not bare but covered in bookshelves, which were filled to the brim with novels. They watched as someone took a book out of their bag and found a place for it on one of the shelves. Comfortable seating was crowded into the small place and the cool air mixed with the warm air from the busy London streets when the door opened.

"Why are you wearing a coat and scarf?" Emma asked, sipping her coffee.

"I like it." He answered simply. "You don't like tea."

It was a statement, not a question. Emma smiled softly. "No, I hate it actually."

"Interesting. When do you start school?"

It was not in Sherlock's nature to ask meaningless questions, but the girl had called him for such conversation. Moreover, he felt himself willing to oblige. He had lately found himself rather bored, and Lestrade had not had any cases for him all week. Emmaline's call had been a godsend. When Sherlock thought life was dull, bad things happened.

"On Monday. It's a public school I guess, so no uniform thank god."

"You have a very individual sense of dress." Sherlock noted.

He quickly took in her peculiar attire: mint-green dress shirt tucked into jean shorts and red sneaker shoes. It was the way teenagers dressed these days he supposed.

"So do you. It's the end of May and you're wearing a wool coat."

Sherlock chose not to dignify that with a response. He had already told her he preferred the coat. Instead, he chose to ask another question. "You said your birthday was in June – when is it?"

"June 1st. I will be sixteen." She said proudly, dipping her cookie into her coffee.

Sherlock again did not respond. He wondered now that he had asked her, if she expected a gift. He thought not since they were merely acquaintances. However, Sherlock did admit, he did not know all of society's expectations in social situations.

Emma watched him thinking curiously. She had no idea what he was thinking about but he subconsciously brought his fingers to his lips.

"When's your birthday?" She asked, trying to resume conversation.

"January sixth." He answered, still thinking.

After a few moments of deliberation, Sherlock decided simply not to worry about it. He drained his cup of tea.

"So…" Emma really had not thought through calling him.

At the time, it had seemed smart, but now with him across from her she felt intimidated. She had visited his website and he seemed to be a truly intelligent individual. She was worried that calling him had been a mistake and that he would soon get bored.

"What's your favorite play by Shakespeare?" He suddenly asked.

Emma stared at him a moment in surprise before answering.

"Hamlet."

"Why?" Sherlock asked, intrigued.

"Because it's about the tragic flaw of time – and what happens if we waste it. I like it because it's about this man who should succeed in getting revenge, but because he can't do anything on time he loses his life."

"A little sad." Sherlock commented.

"How about you?" Emma asked.

"Twelfth Night." He answered automatically.

"Why?"

"I'm not sure." Sherlock said after a moment's hesitation.

Emma got the feeling that he did know, but he was not willing to share. She cocked an eyebrow to let him know she was not fooled, but he did not seem disturbed by this fact.

They sat in comfortable silence for minutes, Sherlock staring at the novels in the shelves, and Emmaline looking at Sherlock.

He was certainly a strange man, but he was also a good companion. In the hour they had been sitting in the teashop, she had not once felt like crying. She had met him twice now, and talked to him for a total ranging somewhere near seven hours, but she still felt as if she knew little about him.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Sherlock stood rather abruptly to take his coat off. She had expected him to sit back down but instead he walked to the shelf nearest them and started running his fingers over the spine of books.

"What are you looking for?" She asked, joining him.

"Anything."

His fingers stopped on a book and he pulled it down from the shelf.

"Brave New World by Aldous Huxley." She read the front.

"This is alright; have you read it?" He asked.

"No."

"Well you should."

Sherlock grabbed his coat and inclined his head towards a small leather sofa across from their table. He draped his coat across the back of the couch and sat down, patting the cushion next to him. Cautiously she sat down.

Sherlock crossed his legs and opened the book to the first page.

"Are you going to read to me?" Emma asked, uncertainly.

"I find the best way to read is to be read to. Besides, didn't you ask to be distracted?" He was not about to tell her he enjoyed reading aloud.

"Yes, I did." She admitted.

She was glad he was not offended. Yes, she had called him to distract her from thoughts of her mother. He was good company and she was glad of it. She found him easy to be around and she hoped they could be friends.

"Alright then. Are you ready to begin?" He asked.

Emma tried hard to suppress a giggle. This just seemed strange to her, but she was intrigued.

"Yes, alright."

"_A squat grey building of only thirty-four stories."_ Sherlock's deep voice resonated with the first line of the long book.

ᶓ

Sherlock closed the book. They had gotten four chapters in, which was quite a feat. They had been sitting in the teashop for two hours and people had come in and out all day, dithering and talking about simple things. It was almost six o'clock in the evening.

Sherlock had to get back to his flat to finish an experiment and he did not doubt that Emmaline's grandparents were wandering where she was.

"Thank you Sherlock." Emma whispered tiredly.

Even though she had been in London for a week, she was still running on Texas time.

"I think it's time you got back home. Come on."

Sherlock helped her stand up and she waited while he returned the book to its spot and put his coat on.

"My grandparents just live a few blocks away." She said, pointing in their general direction.

"I'll walk you home." Sherlock insisted.

Emmaline did not voice an objection. It was getting dark out and she did not know her way around very well yet, not to mention that London was huge.

They fell comfortably in step and walked quietly down the pavement back to her flat. Emma stopped suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk, looking up.

"What?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

"The stars." She answered with a slight frown.

"What about them?"

Emma pointed up to the sky. "There are less of them here – you can't see as many."

"It's because of the pollution." Sherlock stood next to her, looking at where she pointed in the night sky.

"That's sad." Her hand fell to her side. "In Texas my Mother and I would lay out a blanket in the yard and just look up at the stars, for hours." Emma smiled faintly at the memory.

"How many more stars are there?" Sherlock asked curiously. He was used to the London sky.

"You mean you've never seen a clear night sky?" Emma turned her head up to stare at him in shock.

"No."

"Well then I'll paint it for you." Emmaline resolved, looking back at the stars for a second.

"Come on; let's get you home."

Sherlock turned around, expecting Emmaline to follow. She caught up with him quickly and the rest of their walk was spent in silence.

"I live right there." She pointed across the street at her apartment building.

"Then I believe it's time to say goodnight."

"Yes I suppose."

"Goodnight Emmaline."

"Goodnight Sherlock."

Sherlock turned on his heel and began walking away.

"Sherlock wait." He turned his head over his shoulder to see Emma following slowly.

"I just wanted to say thank you, for hanging out with me today. It helped a lot – it really did. And I was wondering if you wanted to do it again sometime, you know, since you still have to finish reading that book to me."

"I'll meet you there tomorrow, the same time." He said impulsively.

"OK." Emma beamed. "Goodnight Sherlock."

She turned and ran across the street and disappeared into her building. Sherlock shook his head and turned the collar up on his coat, walking down the dark London sidewalk back home.

**A/N: I've been listening to a lot of Coldplay while writing this, specifically **Fix You. **If you haven't heard it I suggest it highly – I'm considering it 'their' song. **

**As always thank you for reading – please review? They encourage me to write more quickly. **


	4. Chapter 4: Painting the Stars

**A/N: Enjoy Chapter 4! I know it is a bit shorter, it is intentional. **

Chapter 4: Painting the Stars

Emma turned her CD player on and cracked her neck. It was five in the evening and her grandparents had gone out to dinner. Emma had claimed she was not hungry, but the truth was she wanted to paint. She had already had a sandwich in the kitchen and was now staring at a blank canvas in the corner of her bedroom.

It had been a week since that first meeting with Sherlock in the teashop. Since then she had seen him every day there after school. She would work on homework while he read or worked on his individual studies. He had told her that he was not in school, though he had attended University for a short time. He was studying whatever interested him. Every day he would show up with a different textbook that he would proceed to glance through and store the important information from.

Emmaline had not yet started on his painting – the painting she had promised him of the starry night sky. She got the feeling that he really did not care whether she ever did it or not, but it was important to her to give it to him.

She sighed, the brush limp in her hand. She was not sure how to start the painting. She closed her eyes and let the song that was playing wash over her skin and make her mind fuzzy. She found it better for her when she did not have to think, and just painted what she felt.

She dipped the fine brush into the dark blue paint and made her first stroke. Emma smiled, biting her lip. She could already see where this piece would end. She grabbed the stool she had taken from the kitchen and sat on it in front of the easel, grabbing a piece of charcoal for later.

The dark blue needed to be placed just right, to meld with the other eventual colors. She grabbed the fine charcoal pencil in her right hand and began faintly outlining the shape of a woman in the paint-free middle section of the canvas. Emma begrudgingly admitted to herself that she probably should have done the woman first, but she shrugged.

When the lines were just right, the woman sculpted the way she wanted, she grabbed a finer paintbrush and dipped it in a lighter blue paint jar. She filled the woman's skirts with color, giving her body and shape.

After that was done she sat back to see how the piece was coming along. She cleaned one of her brushed and dipped it in the black paint, painting the woman's corset-clad back.

The woman's skin and hair she painted white with overtones of the light blue of her skirt train, and the sky surrounding her. Emma stuck her tongue between her lips as she concentrated on the melding of light blue and dark.

After two hours of work, she leaned back. The woman in the sky was done; now she just had to paint the stars. Emma turned her head as her favorite song came on the CD player. She smiled and put it on repeat. This was just what she needed to listen to, to paint the stars.

"_How many special people change? How many lives are living strange? Where were you when we were getting high?" _

Emma picked up her finest brush and dipped it in the pink paint. She made tiny circles in the train of the woman's dress, starts tumbling forth from the skirt to fill the night sky with their beauty. Emma waited for the pink to rest before adding tiny flecks of white.

She smiled to herself, taking in the painting. It was not exactly what she had promised Sherlock, but it was beautiful all the same. Emma looked at the picture of her and her mother on her nightstand.

"I'm painting again mommy; I'm painting again." She whispered to the photograph.

Her mother's captured smile made Emma's heart soar. It was almost as if she was here, and really was proud of Emma's work. Emma signed the bottom corner in black paint and took her brushes off to the kitchen to clean them. She could hear her grandparents on the front step, probably just having gotten back from dinner.

Emma set her brushes against the sink and slinked quietly back to her room. The canvas sitting in the corner of her room brought another smile to her face. She had not painted since before her mother died, and here was a completed work just waiting for its owner.

She turned the light off and crawled back into bed; tomorrow was Saturday and she could give the painting to Sherlock at the café.

ᶓ

Sherlock stared at the painting sitting in his living room. He honestly had not expected Emmaline to ever paint something for him. His eyes traced over the different blues intermingling in the sky, and the light pink stars that appeared to be twinkling.

She was good – it was very well done. The ethereal woman holding her skirts as stars tumbled forth from them to fill the darkened sky with their twinkling forms.

Sherlock would have to decide where to put it up. Just because he lived in a tiny flat with hardly any furnishings to speak of and only remember, important information did not mean he could not appreciate good art. He did not really understand the point of it, or the sentiment behind it, but he could tell if it was well done or not.

He leaned back in his chair and tightened the belt around his left forearm. He grabbed the needle from the coffee table in front of him and carefully slipped it into his vein, pressing the plunger. He sighed happily, letting the belt slip as he took the needle out.

Colors danced happily across his mind as his head lolled to the side. Sherlock had not had a case or a puzzle in nearly two weeks.

"_My mind rebels at stagnation." _He had once told Lestrade.

Apparently, the Detective had not taken his words to heart. Lestrade had told Sherlock he would not be allowed to help if he was still using, but as Lestrade was not using him anyway, Sherlock could care less.

The morphine swam happily through his veins, calming his mind and working its way out to his fingertips and toes. A giggle burst forth from his lips before he spilled out of the chair and fell face-first to the floor. He felt ready to deduce, to solve crimes. If only he had something _to do! _

Sherlock sighed happily and rolled over on the floor, staring up at his ceiling. For him, this was the most fun a Saturday evening could be. He giggled happily and lolled around on the floor before turning over onto his stomach and promptly falling asleep, the belt still loose around his arm.

**A/N: The song she is listening to is **Champagne Supernova **by Oasis. Great song, go check it out. Please review and tell me what you think so far. **

**Please also remember that this is Sherlock **_ten years _**before he met John so he is going to be a bit different than he is on the BBC show. I am writing him as if some of the things that have made him a bitter cold man have not happened yet, other things have. **


	5. Chapter 5: Riding Along

Chapter 5: Riding Along

May 31st. The day before Emmaline's sixteenth birthday. It was four o'clock in the afternoon on the wonderful Wednesday, and she was sipping a tea of warm coffee and highlighting her English textbook, waiting for Sherlock to arrive at the café.

She grabbed her blue highlighter and passed it over a large section, re-reading as she went. She had not seen Sherlock in a few days as he had called to say he would be busy with a case. She had known the man for about a month now. She said 'know', when really she knew almost nothing about him.

They rarely talked about anything personal, and never anything about him. Apart from his deductions. His deductions and his brain were the only personal topics on which he encroached.

Emma tapped her pen against the wooden table, starting a rhythm, as she thought about the passage she had just read.

"Are you going to do that all day?" Sherlock asked from behind her.

Emma jumped in her seat and dropped the pen, her heart kick starting. As soon as she saw who it was, she slowly willed her body to calm itself down. _It is not a stranger. It is just Sherlock. _

"No." She said, brushing hair out of her eyes.

Sherlock did not reply. Instead, he removed his coat and sat down neatly across from her, spreading his own folders across the table.

"Is that your new case?" She asked interestedly.

"Yes; not very interesting. A six at the most." His voice trailed off as he looked down at the papers and pictures.

Emma rolled her eyes and turned back to her own work. She had learned not to ask how his scale worked for fear he would _actually _explain it. She quickly finished her English notes and put the book away, dragging out her biology homework. It was all she had left to do and then she could look at what Sherlock was doing.

She had not yet seen him bring _actual _casework to the café. A few times, he had brought recorded accounts of crimes and he had flipped through them, mumbling to himself while making notes. When she had asked about the numbers he had written next to each case, he had told her it was his rating scale – cases rated one through ten.

"_I only get out of bed for something above a 7." _He had told her, before turning back to his work.

Emmaline thought it would be quite intriguing to see him do actual work with the police since she had only ever heard him talk about it. Just as she was starting on her biology worksheet, Sherlock's phone went off.

He pulled it from his pocket and gave it a quick glance before a maniacal gleam entered his eye.

"What?" Emma asked, looking up from her homework.

"Detective Inspector Trevor has just informed me that there has been another break-in which requires my attention."

"Oh, alright then." Emma turned up the corners of her mouth into a smile before looking back down at her homework.

She could see Sherlock stand up and gather his papers, and put on his coat. She saw him step around the table and start for the door. She assumed that he had left.

"Emmaline, would you like to come along?" He asked uncertainly.

While not in his nature, it seemed wrong to leave the young girl here by herself, no matter how close it was to her flat. Besides, he had noticed her peeking at the folders. He knew she was eager to see what he did. Moreover, being able to show off in front of _anyone _was a treat for Sherlock.

"You want me to come along to a crime scene?" Emma asked hesitantly.

"A fresh eye is always…good." Sherlock finished lamely.

"Well then yes, I would."

Emma smiled brightly and packed up her school things. She hefted the bag over her shoulder and together they walked outside and Sherlock hailed a cab.

Sitting in the cramped space was slightly uncomfortable, with Emma bouncing with excitement and Sherlock trying to refrain from telling her to stop. Within twenty minutes they were at the scene.

Stepping out of the cab, Emma realized that she had no idea where they were. She was completely dependent on Sherlock to be able to remember her existence and get her back home safely. _I should really think things through better, _she thought to herself.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes." An officer greeted Sherlock disdainfully.

"Detective Inspector Trevor." Sherlock acknowledged him just as icily, if not more so. "Where is Detective Lestrade?"

"In the house." Trevor pointed impatiently behind him.

Emmaline took in his haggard appearance. He was a gray-haired man, going bald in some spots, and wearing a very ill-fitting suit. His pale complexion read to her as if he was ill.

"Wait a moment – who is this?" Trevor barked when Emmaline tried to walk past the tape with Sherlock.

Sherlock glanced shortly at her. "She is a University student; she is shadowing me for a paper."

The Detective Inspector looked about to protest but Sherlock waved her forward impatiently. They were greeted in the doorway by a graying man, tan and fit-looking.

"Who is she really Sherlock?" The man asked.

Emma's mouth had gone dry at the sight of the younger – but still too old for her – detective. _He should have his own TV show, _she thought.

"She _is _a student." Sherlock insisted.

"I'm his friend." Emmaline fixed her bag strap. "Emmaline Johnson."

"Oh, well." The man looked taken aback at her word choice.

Sherlock himself was giving her a strange, surprised look out of the corner of his eye. He did not have…friends.

The good-looking man took a step forward and held his hand out. Emma hitched in her breath and stepped back, clutching her bag in front of her.

"No, no, don't do that." Sherlock told him. "She doesn't like male initiated contact."

The man held his hands up and took the step back. "Sorry – did not know. I'm Detective Lestrade, just wanted a hand-shake."

"Right, sorry." Emmaline fixed her bag and held her hand out for Lestrade to shake.

"Well, now that we have got that out of the way, would you like to entertain us Sherlock?" Lestrade asked a friendly smile on his face.

Sherlock did not notice; he had already stepped further into the home. Emma decided that by the way they had acted around each other Lestrade was fond of Sherlock, unlike DI Trevor.

"You'll be pleased to know that this is related to the other two break-ins." Sherlock commented, bending over to examine an area rug.

Emma watched as he moved gracefully about the flat, getting close to things to examine them before quickly moving on. He reminded her of a jungle cat in the forest, looking for prey. In Sherlock's case, his prey was clues.

"So friend, huh? How long have you known Sherlock?" Lestrade asked curiously, folding his arms and turning his attention to Emmaline.

"Almost a month now." Her brow knitted as she watched Sherlock bend down to examine dust patterns on a coffee table. "Is he always like this? Strange, I mean." Emma asked.

"Yes." Lestrade rotated to see what Sherlock was doing. "Find anything?" He called to the consulting detective.

"More of the same." Sherlock huffed, standing up straight.

Lestrade shook his head and turned his attention back to Emmaline.

"Are you really a student?" He asked with an observant eye.

"I guess. I'm in high school."

"What?" Lestrade asked, confused.

"Oh yeah – secondary school. Forgot I am not in America."

"How old are you?" Lestrade asked carefully, subtly turning his head to glare at Sherlock.

"Fifteen. I will be sixteen tomorrow." Emma answered proudly, as if her birthday were an achievement.

Lestrade's eyebrows shot straight into his graying hairline. He turned fully to face Sherlock.

"You are hanging out with a fifteen year old girl?" Lestrade continued, appalled. "What in the bloody hell are you thinking?" He turned to face Emma. "And you, what the hell has your mother got to say about this?"

"No, no, don't mention the mother either." Sherlock warned, coming up behind Lestrade, taking his gloves off.

Emma's hand came up to cover her eyes as tears sprung to them. It had been days since she had thought about her mother and now she felt guilty. She turned and rushed past other officers, racing down the front steps of the house and outside.

Lestrade turned to Sherlock, his hands thrown up in the air. "What did I say?"

Emma ducked under the crime-scene tape and started walking down the street, paying no attention to her surroundings. She was in an urban area, with flats and shops and cinemas. Down the corner, she could see one large church. Emma choked out a sob and ran for the church, ducking inside.

There were few inside, and most seemed caught in their own prayer as no service was going on. Emmaline was glad to see that it was a Catholic church – her usual place of worship. Her mother had not been a religious fanatic but they had caught the occasional sermon.

Emmaline had always believed in a higher power, she just did not very often express it. She rushed to the front of the church and grabbed for the box of matches near the candles. With shaky hands, she lit a candle for her mother. She shook out the match and leaned back.

She bowed her head and brought her hands up in the prayer position.

_I am so sorry Mom. I have not thought of you in a few days it is just…I have been so busy and I feel awful for saying that. This is a lovely church to talk to you in…much better than the foot of my bed. I miss you so much mommy. I still look under my bed every night, as you told me to. And he is not there. He is gone, I think for good. My birthday is tomorrow. I packed the present you had gotten me. I found it in your room, under the bed. _Emma chuckled; her mother was always buying presents early and hiding them.

_I have already told you about the man that I met, Sherlock. He is very strange. He seems very sad and lonely. I have known him for a month now and I still feel like I do not know him at all. I think…I think he is afraid. However, I do not know of what. Today he took me to a crime scene with him. Thanks for listening to that wish mommy. He is good at what he does – I wish you could see him work. _

_I have to go now mommy, but I will talk to you tonight, OK? I love you mommy. I will always be your little Emma-bear. I love you. _

Emma stood up gingerly from the floor and walked down the aisle, wiping her eyes. She always felt marginally better after talking to her mother. Stepping outside into the sunlight, she turned her head to the left. Sherlock was slipping something clear into his pocket when he turned at the opening church door.

The man standing next to him quickly shuffled off. Emmaline stared curiously after him for a moment before directing her attention to Sherlock.

"You followed." She waited for a reply but did not get one. "And you waited."

"I do have to get you home." Sherlock reminded her.

"Right." Emma fixed her bag strap.

"Let's go. A few blocks from here we can hail a taxi quite easily." Sherlock started walking down the street, expecting Emmaline to follow.

"So what did you find out at the house?" Emma asked after a few moments silence.

Sherlock rifled through his coat before replying. "The same evidence as the other two – dust disturbed, footprints, stolen items. And a fingerprint." 

"A fingerprint?"

"That is not in the least bit exciting; that pegs it down to at least a four." He replied in a bored tone.

Triumphantly he finally pulled a cigarette and lighter from his pocket. He lit it and put the white stick between his tips, allowing it to hang there while he pocketed the lighter.

"You smoke?" Emmaline asked surprised.

She had never seen him smoke, nor had she picked up the smell from him.

"I started two days ago, so it is a rather new habit."

Emma watched as he took a long drag on the cigarette before breathing out the white smoke.

"You know it is really bad for you." She said looking slightly disgustedly at his euphoric expression.

As she was now used to, he chose not to reply. He flung his arm out and hailed a cab, opening the door for her. The drive was filled with silence, Emma thinking about her mother and her birthday the next day. Sherlock was wondering when his next puzzle would come along. His hand came to rest gently on the small bottle of morphine in his coat pocket. If worse came to worse he would have to take another dose and forget his puzzles. Now that this case was practically solved, they no longer needed him. This left his mind open to boredom, and as a result, other things. He patted his pocket once before resting his hand on his knee.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" Emma asked, looking at Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at her curiously. They always met after her school hours in the café; it was routine now. Sherlock cocked his head slightly at the curious thought: _it was routine now. _So this little girl was part of his every day routine? The thought that someone had gotten him to change something, his daily activities, and it had taken him this long to notice it, was slightly unsettling.

"I am going out to dinner with my grandparents so I won't be at the café tomorrow. Do you want to meet up somewhere else?" She asked as the cab stopped a few houses down from her flat.

"Call me when you are finished with dinner, and I will tell you a place." His mouth seemed to speak of its own accord.

"OK." She grabbed her bag and stepped out of the cab. She shouldered her bag before leaning down to look in the window. "Thanks for today Sherlock. I had fun."

She gave him a soft smile before straightening and walking away down the street. Sherlock gave the cabbie his address on Montagu Street and leaned his head back, paying the outside world no attention.

She had called him her 'friend'. Why would she go and do some silly thing like that, unless she meant it? Sherlock found a light smile touching his lips. Never in his life had he had a friend before. No one could ever find enough patience to be around him. They always found him insufferable and annoying. Sherlock blocked the awful memories that tried to filter through at the thought.

One of the terrible things about having a brain such as his: he _never _forgot. And his tormentors would be hard to forget. They were one of the reasons he had left University without a degree, besides his awful professors and restless mind.

No; she did not act like a bully. Maybe, Sherlock thought, she was acting like a friend.

_Damaged people gravitate towards Damaged people ~~ Norman Reedus _

**A/N: I just thought that quote was a really beautiful way to end the chapter even though neither of our characters are thinking it. Please review, I love reading the comments! Please?**


	6. Chapter 6: Sweet Sixteen

Chapter 6: Sweet Sixteen

Emma stared at the package in her hands. _Should I open it now, or after dinner? _She ran the tips of her fingers down the carefully wrapped present. This was the last thing she would ever receive from her mother. _Or should I wait until after Sherlock? _

Emmaline was not sure what she wanted to do. Leaving it here, she knew she would think about it all night. Emma sighed but put the package down under her pillows. _Out of sight, out of mind. _

She got up to take one last look in the mirror at herself. She had thrown on her sheer pink tank and blue jeans without a thought earlier in the day. Her grandmother had made her add a white blazer to look 'sophisticated'. Emma had immediately rebelled against this by putting on pink high-top Converse sneakers.

"Are you ready to go yet dear?" Her grandmother called from the main room.

"Yes, I'm ready!" Emma yelled back.

With a sigh she gathered her purse and walked out the front door with her grandparents and got into the car. For this being her 'sweet sixteen' she was sure having a boring day.

ᶓ

"I'm going out." Emma announced, coming out from her bedroom.

"You just got home." Her grandfather said gruffly.

"Remember that friend I told you about? Sherrie? She wants to hang out with me tonight." Emma stuck her bottom lip out in a pout.

Her grandfather stared her down before smiling. "Alright, but not too late. It is a school night."

"I promise! Thanks!" She squealed, planting a kiss on his papery cheek.

Emma dashed from the flat and down the street to the phone booth around the corner. She scraped the bottom of her bag for loose change and called the now-familiar number.

"Hello?" He answered lazily.

Emma smiled; he only ever answered the phone informally when he knew it was her calling.

"I finished with dinner." She gently reminded him.

Sherlock looked around his flat. That was right – he had invited her over that night after her birthday dinner.

"OK; get a cab and come to this address: 23 Montague Street."

"Am I meeting you there?" She asked hesitantly.

She had only ever taken a cab with Sherlock before, never on her own. She was nervous to deal with the driver and getting out at the right spot on her own.

"I will be waiting right outside." He said gently.

"OK."

"I will see you in ten minutes."

Emmaline hung up the phone. She wondered where Sherlock was meeting her. As she allowed her mind to wander and think, the cabbie pulled up to the street. He barked impatiently at her while she rifled through her wallet before finding the bills she needed to pay him with.

She huffed as she got out of the cab, slinging her purse over her. _How rude, _she thought. Emma turned to look at the building. It looked like an apartment building. She cocked her head curiously to the side. _Did Sherlock invite me over? _

Sure enough the mad detective was coming out the front door, sans scarf and coat. He lit a cigarette and waved her forward impatiently, inside the building.

"I live on the fifth floor." He told her.

She worked her way up the stairs and paused on the fifth floor landing. He sidled around her carefully, making sure not to come to close. He opened his apartment door and stepped aside for Emmaline to enter.

She was not sure what to think of his living space. It was cluttered – absolutely books, newspapers, or journals covered everywhere she looked. The small kitchen was full of microscopes and test tube vials full of mysterious liquids. There was no sofa, just one armchair. There was a desk that looked like it had been recently cleaned off and two chairs opposite each other positioned at it.

"Do you read all of these?" She asked, looking around the floor at the books scattered there.

"Some of them."

Emma glanced up at the books he had on his shelves. These were obviously his favorites – they were well taken care of, treated by a careful hand. They also appeared to be dusted regularly versus the dust that covered the innumerable other surfaces in his flat.

"Are you ready?" He asked, taking a seat at the desk.

"Ready for what?" She took the seat opposite him.

"You seemed eager to go on the case with me yesterday – I thought it would be entertaining to see how you fare with past cases I have solved."

"You want me to look at old cases and solve them?" Emma asked, disbelieving.

"Don't worry – no one's lives are depending on you." He smiled smugly and handed her a folder.

She flipped it open and stared down at its contents.

"Do you like this? Trying to prove you're smarter than everyone else?" She looked up at him abruptly.

"I am smarter than everyone else." He insisted. "I'm a genius and the whole world is just full of idiots." He said simply, taking the folder from her and looking at it himself.

Emma crossed her arms on the desk and leaned forward, making sure to catch Sherlock's attention.

"Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing it is stupid. Albert Einstein said that."

"Einstein was also an idiot." Sherlock broke eye contact to shove the folder back across the table.

"Sherlock." She scolded. "He was trying to say that everyone is a genius in their own way, in their own field. This is what _you _do best."

He stopped with his hands still on the folder. He looked across at her, a quizzical look on his face.

"What does that mean?"

Emma sighed. Sometimes she thought she was the person in her mid-twenties when she was around him. He acted like a confused child.

"It means," she took hold of his wrist, "That not everyone can do what you do but that does not mean they are not smart."

She lifted his hand from the folder and put it down to rest on the wood of the table. She pulled out a picture of a crime scene to show him.

"I look at this picture and I see someone who was murdered here, nothing else. What do you see when you look at it?"

Sherlock studied the photograph for a few seconds before flicking his blue eyes to meet her brown ones.

"I see everything. The blood pattern that clearly means the killer was inebriated when he killed, the empty glass that means the victim was interrupted when having a stiff drink."

He picked up another photo from the folder. "The other glass in the living room, meaning the killer was over for a drink. Why did they both need to have a glass of scotch? Probably a rough day – judging from the victim's suit, they work in the same office. Rough day, rough sale. Killer was most likely frustrated over a sale gone wrong at work – but not something small. He lost him a multi-million dollar deal."

Sherlock put the photo down.

"And that is amazing!" Emma gushed. "It is, and that is why it is amazing; only you can do it. It is something that _you _are good at."

Emmaline looked around the apartment and noticed her painting sitting against the wall. She directed Sherlock's attention to it.

"What do you see when you look at that?"

Sherlock shrugged. "A blending of colors and shapes and lines to make something nice to look at."

Emma smiled. "When I look at it I see the lady and her master, the sky."

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something but Emmaline cut him off.

"And that is why you are special – you have a genius analytical mind, but not everyone does. I have a…an emotional mind let us call it. You have an analytical one."

"I am still not convinced that everyone is a genius."

Emma smiled and shook her head. "I am not even going to try and convince you." She took a moment to study his haggard appearance. "How long has it been since you have eaten?"

"What day is it?" Sherlock asked absentmindedly.

"Thursday."

"I'll be okay for a bit."

He pulled out another folder. "How about this one?" He shoved it across the table at her.

"Sherlock, how long has it been since you've eaten?"

"Yesterday morning? That's not important." He insisted.

"Oh my god." She rolled her eyes and got up from the table.

"Where are you going?"

"To find you something to eat."

She walked into his kitchen. It was just as full and messy as the rest of the flat. The room was full of scientific equipment and his textbooks – it was a lab. Emmaline carefully skirted around some of the mysterious substances on the floor and opened the fridge.

All that was inside were a couple of _extremely _old moldy looking things on plates, and an unopened package of turkey. Emma sighed and shut the fridge. Held on by a magnet to the outside was a menu for a Chinese takeout.

She took it off the fridge and walked back out to Sherlock with it.

"What are you in the mood for?" She asked.

"I don't care."

Emmaline rolled her eyes and held her hand out. "I need your phone to order."

Sherlock pulled it out of his pants pocket and handed it over. She dialed the number and ordered him something to eat, with the promise it would be there in a half-hour.

She handed his phone back and sat down at the desk. "So what about this case?" She asked, looking down at the photos.

"Break-in, but nothing was stolen."

"Why would someone break into a house and not steal anything?" Emma shuffled through the photos, taking a careful look at each one.

She felt ridiculous trying to do this in front of him; not only had he solved the case, but doing this in his presence made her question her eye-sight. If he could see _everything, _and she could see _nothing, _then what was she? _Remember Einstein – fish and tree, _she calmly urged herself.

"I have no idea. What is it?"

"It was a dare; a group of kids dared another teenager to break in to the house."

"How do you know?"

Sherlock's cheeks flushed slightly pink. "The boy turned himself in the next day."

"So you did not figure this one out either!" Emma cried in disbelief.

She burst out laughing, clutching her stomach to stop it from hurting from the force of her jovial outburst.

"What's so funny?"

"I have no idea." Emma replied once she was sober.

Sherlock stared curiously at her before pulling out another folder.

They passed the time waiting for the food to arrive by looking at a number of his old cases, the solved and unsolved ones. Upon her insistence, Sherlock walked her through every case, detailing exactly how he knew what he knew. She stared at him in awe as he talked. _How can one man do this, know so much? _She wondered.

They were interrupted by a knock on Sherlock's door.

"That'll be the takeout." Emma grabbed her purse and walked to the door.

She paid the deliveryman and took the food back in to Sherlock.

"Alright, now you can eat." She passed the food over.

Instead of sitting back down across from him at the desk, she found a clean spot of floor and sat down. She picked up a random book and looked at the cover. _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, _C.S. Lewis. She set it aside and picked up another book. _Great Expectations, _Charles Dickens.

"What are you doing down there?"

"Why are these not your favorites?" She asked her own question instead.

"How do you know they aren't?" Sherlock asked, taking a bite of noodles.

"No, the ones on the shelves are your favorites. Those get dusted and cared for; these are just tossed aside."

"What a wonderful deduction." He said sarcastically.

Emma gasped and sat up. "I did, didn't I? I _deduced _something!"

"Well, it wasn't all that hard to—"

"Don't you dare Sherlock Holmes!" Emma put her finger up as a warning. "I made a _deduction, _and I do not care how easy you think it was."

Emma sat back, proud of herself. Sherlock smiled faintly and stood up to join her on the floor. With a flourish, he deposited himself a safe distance from her. Emmaline watched, the feet of distance between them speaking to her.

"You still haven't figured it out, have you?"

Sherlock knew what she was talking about; he did not have to see the sad look in her brown eyes.

"No I have not."

"But you _know. _Even if you do not know why, you told Lestrade not to approach me. You keep your distance from me."

"I have observed that you are uncomfortable with members of the male species putting themselves close to you. I have also observed that you are fine however, when getting closer to them."

"How do you mean?" Emma asked, cocking her head.

"Lestrade couldn't shake your hand, but you could shake his. I can't walk close to you, but you can walk close to me. You didn't like it when I reached for your tissues on the plane, but you had no problem with encroaching on my personal space later."

Emma scooted closer to him so that only a few inches separated them.

"So?" She asked.

"I will figure it out."

"I really hope you don't." She whispered.

She was afraid Sherlock would not want to be her friend anymore if he found out. Others before had abandoned her because of it.

Silence filled the apartment; the only noise was the occasional slurp from Sherlock's noodles.

"What was your childhood like?" Emma asked abruptly.

Sherlock did not reply right away. He was thinking; too many painful memories accompanied his childhood. There were good ones too, but so many of them he just wanted to shut out. He finally decided on a safe answer.

"I was home-schooled."

"Really? That sounds boring."

"I enjoyed it; I had private tutors and my family often took trips around the world to aid in my studies."

"What was your favorite place to visit?" Emma turned her head to look up at him.

Sherlock slurped more noodles before answering.

"France; we often went to Paris." A smile touched his lips; many of his fond memories were of Paris. "My grandmother was French, and I loved to visit her."

"You had a French grandmother? What was she like?" Emma scooted closer so their knees were touching.

This was the first time she had heard him mention anything about his past and she did not want to miss any of it.

"She lived in a rather nice chateau that we visited every summer. I would often spend my time with her in the library or the garden, conversing in French. She loved to read to me in that library." Sherlock closed his eyes as he remembered. "She would make the best food for us. She did all the cooking herself – she even taught me a few things."

He chuckled and opened his eyes. "She always smelled of mint and tobacco; and she loved teaching us. Every time we went to visit we learned something new."

"Us?" Emma asked.

"My brother Mycroft and I; he is seven years older and never had much patience for her. He would always go exploring on his own, leaving grandmother and me alone."

"What happened?"

"She was old; she died when I was eighteen." Sherlock took another bite, a sign to Emmaline that he was done talking.

Emma looked down at her watch. "It's eleven o'clock!" She exclaimed, standing up abruptly.

Her knee knocked Sherlock's and he winced, rubbing it. "Sorry." She apologized, grabbing her bag. "I have to go – I have school in the morning."

"Are you alright to get a cab on your own?" Sherlock asked, also standing.

"I'll be fine." She replied.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes; it's not so far away, my flat."

"Be careful." He insisted.

"I will. Thank you Sherlock." She headed for the door.

"Happy Birthday Emmaline." Sherlock called from the doorway.

Emma turned on the stairs, smiling. "Thanks!" She waved goodbye before hurrying downstairs and outside.

Sherlock closed the door quietly and headed back into his flat. He threw away the empty take-out container. The girl had actually gotten him to eat a whole container of noodles. He picked up the fortune cookie and tore off the wrapper, breaking the cookie in half. He pulled the slip of paper out.

"Do not fear what you do not know." He read.

Sherlock made a noise and crumpled the paper in his hand. What did factory workers know?

ᶓ

Emma quietly entered the flat. Her grandparents were asleep – she could see the closed bedroom door. She hurried silently to her room and closed the door. She threw the light on and changed into her pajamas as quickly as she could. Now that she had acknowledged the lateness of the hour, she found herself quite tired.

She threw herself down onto the bed and reached under her pillow. She had one present left to open while it was still her birthday. The wrapped package called to her and she tentatively took away the paper.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she clutched the gift to her chest. Her mother had taken a photo of a magnolia tree. Her mother knew they were her favorite flower. As a little girl, she had used to rush around collecting the fallen blossoms. She had taken them home and put them in a vase of water; they had looked so beautiful floating.

Emmaline put the photo on her nightstand with the photo of her and her mother; it was the last thing she would ever receive from her. Emma turned out the light and curled up under the covers on her side; the world was not fair sometimes. She tried to stifle her sobs so as not to wake her grandparents in the next room.

_Hardships often prepare Ordinary people for an Extraordinary Destiny ~~ C.S. Lewis_


	7. Chapter 7: Summer Vacation

Chapter 7: Summer Vacation

"This is serious Sherlock!" Emma swatted his arm away from her paper.

They were at Nonni's again, a month after her birthday. She had been surprised to learn that her school started summer break at the beginning of July. So here she was, three days into her break trying to pick her A-levels. She had chosen to go to Sherlock for help in explaining exactly _what _an A-level was, but he was not entirely helpful.

"I was home-schooled remember?" He said, removing his hand.

"Well, I have to pick four classes right? Just four classes that I take as _advanced_ or whatever. That should not be too hard."

"You've been sitting here for an hour trying to figure it out." Sherlock pointed out.

"OK so? This is important."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Sitting here bored with another person was better than sitting alone bored. Bored alone he got…recreational. Sherlock pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it up.

They were sitting side-by-side on the leather sofa, knees touching. Emma had a sheaf of papers in hand: her A-level choices and descriptions as well as her paper to fill out with her choices. She batted a hand impatiently at the smoke when it came near her face.

"That smells terribly." She insisted, for the thousandth time.

Sherlock, as usual, made no reply. He picked up the book he had brought and turned back to it.

"I promise – as soon as we've finished we'll go to the movies."

Sherlock sighed. "I have no desire to go to the cinema."

"Well I do, and you chose to hang out with me today." Emma smiled smugly before turning back to his papers.

Sherlock rolled his head back against the couch. If only Lestrade would call him in to consult on something. His last case had been days ago; days of stagnation made room for plenty of boredom.

"What do you think about Psychology?" Emma turned her head to look at Sherlock.

"I haven't the faintest idea." Sherlock drummed his fingers impatiently against the arm of the couch.

"Alright well, I'll check that and it just leaves one more."

"What do you have so far?" Sherlock inquired, slightly interested.

"Psychology, Art, and French." Emma stuck her tongue between her lips in thought. "I think…Health and Social Care. The only thing close to a medical class they have on here."

"Why are you taking French?" Sherlock looked over her shoulder at her boxed choices.

"It's a beautiful language; besides, I need to learn some foreign language."

Sherlock huffed indifferently and sat back in his seat. He mentally filed away that he had moved close to her and she had not shied away as usual. _Perhaps she did not notice? _

"Alright I'm done. Now can we go to the movies?" Emma packed up her bag and turned to look at Sherlock.

"I am not one who enjoys films; besides, there is nothing good out."

"We could go see that space movie – _Titan A.E._ That looked good."

Emma scrunched up her face and poked his chest. "Besides, how would you know what's out? You don't have a television."

Sherlock sighed but closed his book and stood. "Alright, let's go. There is a cinema around the corner."

Emma held up her hand and Sherlock pulled, helping her up from the couch. She straightened her dress and made sure her bow was still tied.

"Alright, we can go now."

Sherlock held the door open for her and they stepped out into the warm air. The slight breeze rustled the few strands of hair loose from Emma's ponytail. Sherlock rubbed his arms self-consciously while Emma giggled.

She had gone to his flat that morning to bring him breakfast – she often did on weekends to made sure he actually ate – to find him awake and bundled into his usual long-sleeves and jeans.

Emmaline had let him keep the jeans, but had rifled through his mess of a closet until she had found a short-sleeve shirt for him to wear.

"Will you stop doing that? It looks fine." She insisted, pulling his arms down to his sides.

"I look ridiculous."

"No, you'd look ridiculous in that coat of yours. It's _summer_ Sherlock; that means you get to dress like it will be _hot _out."

Sherlock huffed impatiently. "I have had that coat since I was twenty – it was a gift from my mother."

"And I am sure she would not want you to get heat-stroke. Come on."

Emma tugged on his arm and pulled him into the cinema doors. Secretly, she made a note to file that information away. He had been letting more slip about his personal life since her birthday in June. She was glad she was finally able to learn more about him, slow as it was getting information out of him.

She had taken to writing the things down, when she got home so she could remember them. So far, he had let slip random bits of information.

He could speak French fluently, he had a French grandmother, he had a mother, father, and brother, – and the brother's name was Mycroft. Mycroft was seven years older and they seemed not to get along. Sherlock was 24 years old and was born on January 6 1976.

He sometimes forgot to eat, and had to be reminded from time to time. He had a great analytical mind that could, as he called it, deduce things. He used this mind to consult the police as a detective. Which Emmaline thought was amazing because he could have chosen to do anything with it.

Sherlock had told her that he was home-schooled by private tutors until he went off to University, and that his family had often gone on trips around the world to aid in the Holmes' boy's studies. This told Emmaline two things: the Holmes family must have had money, and Sherlock must have been a lonely little boy.

He had gone to University when he was 20, but had only attended for two years leaving without a degree. He had also never chosen a major while there. She still had yet to figure out exactly _where _he had gone to college.

No wonder Sherlock acted strange and anti-social around _everyone else_ but those he knew closely. Not interacting with other people until you were twenty? Being Sherlock, she could guess how he had first interacted with the people around him. She guessed he probably had not had many friends at school, which caused a pang in her chest. He was a strange man, but he was no so bad once you got used to all his quirks.

Sometimes they would be at the café or his flat, and he would not talk for long amounts of time. He forgot to eat, or drink. However, he was the upmost in hygiene and, she suspected, probably took two showers a day. He did not find much relish in the television or movies, they were not entertaining to him. What he did like were his deductions. When bored enough he had even told the barista that needed to stop watching so much porn because his girlfriend was going to break up with him over it.

Emma had watched that one, mortified, and was thankful the owner had not kicked them out or banned them. He was constantly tapping classical rhythms against his thigh and had a makeshift science lab in his kitchen. He was messy and cluttered and if you tried to clean, he yelled "its organized chaos!" and put everything back.

He knew absolutely nothing about art, but on a few occasions had watched Emmaline draw in her sketchpad. He smoked quite frequently, something that bothered Emma, but which Sherlock _just did. _He never commented on it, nor did he do it often around Emma. When he did, he made sure to smoke away from her so the smoke he breathed out would not be in her general area.

On the only other crime scene she had been to with him, he had made a mind-baffling deduction before announcing to Detective Inspector Trevor exactly who he was looking for. When everyone had stared at him dumbfounded, he had smiled triumphantly. He _enjoyed _making other people feel less intelligent.

When she had asked how he knew however, he had slowly taken her through the crime scene explaining each detail and what it meant to his deduction. Lestrade had later pulled her aside and spoken to her about it.

"_Did he explain that to you, just now, what he said?"_

"_Yes; I wanted to know how he knew."_

"_He does not do that with anybody. Just the first time, so we knew he could actually do it, this deductive reasoning of his."_

"_So?"_

"_All I am saying is, we're expected to treat his word like the Gospel. But he explained everything to _you."

Emma had walked away that day feeling confused and just the tiniest bit happy. She walked up to the ticket counter, happy with the information she had found out about this enigmatic man.

"You get the popcorn, I'll get the tickets." She told Sherlock.

He sighed but stamped out his cigarette and entered the lobby of the movie theatre.

"Dragging your boyfriend out for a nice day, huh?" The woman behind the glass winked at her as Emma paid for their tickets.

Emma smiled but did not say anything. The people at the café thought they were brother and sister, and other people assumed different things. She and Sherlock both shot down people that assumed they were a couple – there was no way Emma looked old enough to be Sherlock's girlfriend. Besides, the idea of Sherlock even _having _a girlfriend was so comical, she had to contain herself from bursting into giggles every time the idea was suggested.

Emma took her tickets and walked into the lobby. How anyone could think she would date _Sherlock _was beyond her. True, these were strangers suggesting the idea so they had no idea what he was like. The man was insufferable, strange, and _old. _She shook her head and found Sherlock holding a box of popcorn and a soda.

"The movie starts in ten minutes. Shall we watch all the entertaining film trivia that I know and you don't?" Emma laughed and popped some popcorn in her mouth.

"I got one right last time." He reminded her as they walked into the darkened theatre.

"Yeah but it was about Leonard Nimoy. Everyone knows everything about him." Emmaline pointed out.

"That was a very obscure question."

"_Who did Leonard Nimoy play in _Star Trek?" Emma recited. "Everyone knows he played Spock." Emma took another handful of popcorn as they found their seats.

"Which, speaking of, how do you even know what _Star Trek _is? I thought you only saved important information?"

Sherlock crossed his legs and took a sip of the soda. "Mycroft had a bit of an obsession growing up and he made me sit down and watch every season of the original _Star Trek _with him."

Emmaline noted it. The fact that he had seen something culturally relevant was surprising. She filed that away too to write down later in her journal.

Sherlock read the trivia question that flashed across the screen aloud. "Who said 'I'm the king of the world!' and what movie was he in?"

"Jack Dawson, Leonardo DiCaprio, _Titanic!" _Emma whispered quickly.

She thrust her fist into the air when the answer appeared on screen and she was correct.

"How do you know so much about film?" Sherlock asked, taking a small bite of popcorn.

"My mom and I watched a lot of films together, and it's one of my favorite things to do. I love art, and film is an art form." She took a sip of their soda. "Besides, that's like asking how you got to know what you know."

"No it's not. I learned what I know by studying." Sherlock looked confused. _How could she compare the two? One of them is actually useful. _

"And I studied film; I watched a lot of them."

"There's no point in arguing with you is there?"

"No not really."

Sherlock sighed and took another sip of soda.

Usually he would argue until he ran out of breath with _anyone _who said something he did not agree with, or who he thought was wrong. With Emmaline there was just no point – she would argue that she was right until the ends of the Earth if she had to.

"It's starting." Emma whispered to Sherlock as the theatre darkened.

She settled down in her seat and watched wide-eyed as the film started. Sherlock was not as interested but he found the film capturing his attention as it went on. Whenever it got particularly dark, Emma would reach out and grab Sherlock's arm until the film settled down again.

ᶓ

"That movie was good!" Emma exclaimed as they left the theatre.

"It was not awful." Sherlock agreed.

"Are there any films you do like?" Emma asked curiously.

"_Star Trek _was not bad." Sherlock had actually quite enjoyed the series but was not too keen to tell Emmaline that. "I have not seen too many films."

"I know; we will have to educate you. My grandparents will be gone all next weekend – some sort of old people gathering. Like a dinner gala or something. Do you want to come over and hang out?"

"Are you going to force me to watch more films?"

"Yes. But I'll cook for you too."

Sherlock thought about it. "If I don't have a case."

"Agreed."

"Oh, fish and chips." Emma dragged Sherlock over to the short line at a food cart.

"You just ate popcorn."

"I know but theatre popcorn always gets me hungry."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. This girl had a bottomless pit of a stomach.

Emma ordered her fish and chips and offered some to Sherlock as they walked down the street. Sherlock took a chip and munched on it.

"See, food is good." She laughed.

Sherlock did not honor her sarcastic comment with an answer. He knew she was joking with him. Of course, she had had to explain the nuances of a joke to him the first time she had made one.

He suspected that she knew more about him than she was letting on – Emmaline was smart and he had divulged more of his personal life to her than he had with anyone. She had also told him little of her personal life, but he had made note of it.

Her issue with the male species was still baffling, but he would figure it out. He was in fact taking notes of her reactions and was treating it as an experiment. Sherlock knew that she was not particularly close to her grandparents, but that she loved them. _Sentiment. _He remembered that particular conversation rather well.

"_I don't even know how they feel about her death. I mean, I have not even asked them. I've just been concerned about myself."_

_Sherlock listened to her quiet whisper. She had dragged him out after dinner to a church where they were currently sitting in the back row. _

"_I guess it is because she was _my _mom, you know? Like she's important to me so how could she be important to anyone else? Which is weird and selfish because of course she was important."_

_A little boy had turned around to give them a dirty look and she had stuck her tongue out at him. _

"_And I really have not tried to get to know them. I mean they're my grandparents so I love them, but I feel bad not knowing anything about them."_

_Sherlock had scoffed. _

"_What?" She had quickly turned to look at him. _

"_Love. Sentiment."_

"_What about it?"_

"_Caring is a disadvantage." He had replied simply. _

_At the hurt look in her eyes, Sherlock knew he had said something wrong, but he was not sure what. _

Since then, she had not brought up her grandparents again. Sherlock switched tracks back to what he knew about her.

She was a painter, and he had noticed more paint on her fingers lately. Whatever she was working on it was taking up her time. She missed her mother desperately and whenever she saw something that reminded her of her mother she would tear up. He knew she felt uncomfortable about having everything paid for by her grandparents, especially her new lavish wardrobe, and that she was looking for a job.

He knew she had an amazing amount of film trivia knowledge stored in her brain and could spout film facts like an expert. When compared to other teenagers, she had a strange sense of dress. He had once asked her about it and she had replied, "I dress how I want. I wear what makes me happy."

She had gone to public school in Chicago and then Texas, and was one of the top in her class before moving to London. He knew that her father had left her mother when Emmaline was ten, but before that had not been much of a help with anything. He also knew that her father had been an alcoholic, much as his had been. This little fact he had kept to himself however.

"What films did you have in mind?" His question broke her from her daydreams.

She had grown so used to his not talking that she found she could easily slip into thinking about other things around him, like her art.

"Definitely _Titanic_, that is a classic." Emma pursed her lips in thought.

Sherlock took another chip and bit down on the greasy potato, waiting for the rest of her answer.

"Maybe _Rocky. _Have you seen _Lion King_?"

"What?" Sherlock looked down at her, unsure.

"The animated Disney film with the lion?"

"No." Sherlock broke off a bite of the fish.

"Well add that to the queue. This might take more than one weekend."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "If you weren't so damned intent on exposing me to culture."

"Yes, shame on me for trying to turn you into a functioning citizen."

She pulled her fish and chips out of his reach and ran ahead. She turned, walking backwards and laughed.

"I am a functioning citizen! I contribute to society, I pay taxes!"

She stuck her tongue out and ran ahead, laughing. Sherlock sighed but gave chase. People yelled at the two as they darted in between couples and ran through crowds, but to them it was a game. Emmaline looked over her shoulder to see how close he was. She saw that he was close to catching her and willed her legs to run faster.

Sherlock put on an extra burst of speed and caught up to her, trapping his arm around her middle and hoisting her into the air. He set her down just as quickly and took a step back, trying to catch his breath.

"You run fast." She commented, panting.

She sucked in a great gulp of air and giggled.

"I used to tie sweets on a string and make Mycroft chase me around the gardens. I had to be fast, that fat dollop of a boy chasing me around." He too laughed shakily.

Emmaline held out the rest of the fish and chips. "Your prize sir."

Sherlock shook his head. "No, you eat it."

Emma smiled and straightened up. They were standing in the middle of the sidewalk and people had to move around them.

"Come on." Sherlock jerked his head that they should keep walking.

"Where are we going?" Emma finished off the last of her fish and tossed the newspaper in a trash bin.

"Just around the corner here, this is Oxford Street by the way, and now we're turning onto Binney Street…and there it is." Sherlock pointed ahead of them. "See that stone courtyard? That's Brown Hart gardens."

"It looks very empty."

"That's because people can't appreciate stone."

Sherlock and Emmaline walked down the street until they came upon the large stone 'garden'. They stepped up and walked down the length of the courtyard, passing a small fountain, until coming to the other side.

Emmaline turned her head either way to look at the architecture of the pillars and domes. Sherlock led her to a dome that underneath it had a bench; this dome was more elaborate than the others were, and had a blue top.

"How long have you been without a case?" Emmaline asked.

"A few days." Sherlock sighed. Today was the first day all week that he had not been bored.

"Alright, let's play a game."

"What game?"

"You don't get to use your deduction skills for this because that's cheating. When someone walks by, we make up a random life story for them."

"What?"

"Here, I'll show you." Emma craned her neck to see someone walking down the street. "See that woman right there?" Sherlock nodded.

"OK…she's in Witness Protection. Her father was a big Albanian gangster, and she gave the police information about his drug ring and now he's looking for her so she had to get a new identity." Emmaline looked back to Sherlock. "Understand?"

"How do you know all of that?"

"I don't. It's all made up, pretend."

"Why?"

"For fun Sherlock! Come on, just try. That man over there." She pointed out an old man. "Make something up about him."

"Umm…he has arthritis." Sherlock said lamely.

"That's a good start." Emma chuckled.

She and Sherlock sat on the bench for an hour, making up life stories for people that passed by and laughing at what the other made up.

It was dark out when they stood from their bench and worked their way towards Emmaline's flat. Halfway there, Emmaline gasped.

"Oh Sherlock, I forgot to tell you, I can't hang out tomorrow."

"Why?" Sherlock put his hands in his pockets, rooting around for another cigarette.

"I have a date."

"What's that?" He triumphantly produced a cigarette and lit it.

"You don't know what a date it?"

"It's a dried fruit." He turned to look at her curiously.

"A date is with people; two people who fancy each other go out and have fun."

"So what we've been doing?" Sherlock asked, still not understanding. He finished off the cigarette and threw it to the ground, stamping it out.

"No we've been hanging out, like friends. A date is different because…well because you're interested in maybe being more than friends." Emma swung her arms.

"I still don't understand; that's alright though, it's not important." Sherlock put his hands in his pockets.

"So you would have deleted it anyway?" Emma asked.

"Probably." Sherlock shrugged.

Emma stopped swinging her arms and looked down at the pavement as she walked.

"I met him in school and I ran into him the other day; he seems nice enough. His name is Chesterton though." Emma scrunched her name at the nose.

"Chesterton? What kind of a name is that?"

"I'm choosing to ignore the awful name because my best friend's name is Sherlock, and that's pretty strange too."

"Where are you going?"

"He invited me out to dinner at an Italian place just down the street."

"Enjoy yourself?" Sherlock wondered. He did not know what to say. Nor did he particularly care, but as this was Emmaline, he was making a little effort.

Emma laughed and looped her arm in his. "Yes that's an appropriate wish. I don't know much about him other than he's into computers."

"Do you like Italian food?" Sherlock inquired.

They were coming up on her street and would have to part soon.

"It's alright. Do you like it?"

"Not particularly."

"Well, this is where we say goodbye."

"Goodnight Emmaline."

"Goodnight Sherlock." She reached up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Remember to eat dinner tonight, okay?"

She started down the sidewalk, waving goodbye. Sherlock lightly touched his cheek. Only his mother had ever kissed his cheek. He hailed a cab back to his flat and barged inside. With nothing to do, he rifled around in his dresser until he found what he was looking for: the almost empty bottle of morphine.

Sherlock quickly took off his belt and wrapped it around his left forearm before filling the needle and pressing it into his vein. He sighed happily and let the belt slip to the floor, along with the used needle.

He worked his way out of his bedroom to the living room where he collapsed face-first into his armchair. He crawled his way up it until his knees were on it and he was sitting backwards. He found himself staring at the star painting Emmaline had done for him. Through his hazed eyes, he could see that she was right – it was the lady night and her master the sky.

Sherlock giggled and tumbled backwards out of the chair, hitting his head on the floor. He laughed through the pain and rolled over, working his way under his desk. There he curled up and stared at the exposed brick wall he was facing, drooling a puddle into the rug.

He sighed and closed his eyes, forgetting Emmaline's wish that he eat dinner. He did not feel hungry…he did not feel anything.

**A/N: So at this point our characters have known each other for about two months. This is just the tipping point guys! We do time jump in this fic just because they know each other for such a long time but we will see all the important events and relationship milestones. **

**Please review as I enjoy reading them! If there's anything you'd like to see Sherlock and Emmaline do in London and you review it, I might put it in! **


	8. Chapter 8: An Education in Film

Chapter 8: An Education in Film

"How was your date?" Sherlock asked as Emmaline put the second movie of the night into the DVD player.

"Sherlock that was last Friday." Emma rolled her eyes.

"Oh well, how was it?"

"It was alright; I think we're better off as friends though."

"You can have more than one friend?"

"Yeah; aren't you and Lestrade friends?"

Sherlock thought of the first time Lestrade had busted down Sherlock's door at twenty-two years old to find him high on cocaine and pacing up and down the length of his flat. Per Lestrade's instructions he had not gone near that particular drug again; he had substituted it for something much sweeter.

"I suppose."

Emma stood up and grabbed the remote off the coffee table.

"So what did you think of _Jaws_?"

"Meh." Sherlock shrugged.

Emma laughed. "No, it is not my favorite either." Emma's stomach rumbled. "It is six o'clock. Do you want dinner before we watch _Titanic_?"

"Do you know how to cook?"

"I picked up a thing or two from my mother, yeah."

Emmaline walked into the kitchen and rifled around in the fridge.

"How does fried chicken sound?"

"Sounds fine."

Emma rolled her eyes. You really could not ask Sherlock what he wanted; you had to put a plate in front of him and say 'eat'. She got out two bowls and proceeded to crack eggs and pour milk in one, and put flour in the other.

"Do you want to trim the chicken?"

Sherlock wordlessly looked through cabinets until he found a cutting board and knife for the job. He grabbed the plate of chicken from the fridge and started running them under the sink before trimming the unsavory bits and cutting them into strips.

He handed each strip to Emmaline as he finished it and she coated it in egg and then flour before plating it. When they were done, she put it back in the fridge.

"That's how my mom did it; she lets it get cold and then she does a second coat."

"Well I'm sure she was of average intelligence."

Emma stared at Sherlock for a second before bursting out laughing. He stared at her curiously, not understanding what he had said that was so funny.

"What?"

Emma talked in between fits of giggling. "Coming from you," she paused to catch her breath, "that's practically a compliment!"

She continued to laugh while Sherlock just stood there, watching her. Eventually Emma came up for air, clutching her stomach.

"Oh that was good. Ahh." She wiped her watery eyes and giggled once more. "I think I need to leave the room now – just looking at you is making me laugh!"

"What about the chicken?"

"Relax – I'm just going to put on my jim jams."

"Was that an English phrase I heard?" Sherlock asked, a hint of a smile on his face.

"My grandpa taught it to me. And I'll have you know they are _actual _jim jams."

"I'll take care of the chicken; you get ready for bed."

"Oh I'm just putting pajamas on; we're still staying up and watching movies."

She turned and left the kitchen to go to her bedroom. Sherlock sighed; she was insufferable. He was having an agreeable time however. Normally on Friday nights, he stayed up looking at cases, going to a crime scene with Lestrade, or taking his morphine.

Sherlock took the chicken out of the fridge and proceeded to give them their second coat before finding a pan and oil, and heating the stove up. The oil had just started to pop when Emma rounded the corner.

"Sherlock, can you do something for me?"

He turned around to see that she was blushing. "Of course."

"I need you to go to the store and get umm, I need some tampons." She mumbled awkwardly.

"What?" He knitted his brow.

"Can I write it down, and someone there can help you?"

"Yeah, but what about the chicken?"

"I'll watch it but I _really _need these right now." Her pleading voice convinced him.

"Alright." He found a piece of paper and pen and handed them to her.

She wrote down what she needed and gave the folded piece of paper over to him.

"Please hurry."

Sherlock grabbed his coat and left the flat, trotting down the front steps. He made sure the slip of paper was secure in his pocket before heading to the convenience store on the corner. No one had ever trusted him to do anything that did not involve a crime scene or a deduction. Being in charge of doing something, he wanted to do it right.

He stood up straight and walked into the convenience store and right up to a female associate who was behind the register.

"Excuse me." He got her attention and handed her the slip of paper.

The woman at the register smiled and yelled "Jeanne!" Another woman poked her head around an aisle. The woman behind the register waved the paper and handed it to Jeanne. "Another guy shopping for his girlfriend." She explained.

Jeanne smiled sympathetically and showed Sherlock to the back of the store. "This is the kind she wrote down, just for future reference."

The helpful clerk handed him a box of tampons. Sherlock wondered if he would have to remember this or not.

"What exactly are these for?" He asked, holding the box up.

"Your girlfriend is on her period right?"

"Oh." The elongated word came out of Sherlock's mouth as he finally realized what he was buying. His rudimentary knowledge of the anatomy and human body systems did know what a period was.

Sherlock shuffled to the front of the store and paid for the item. He left the store and hurried back to the flat.

"Oh my god, thank you!" Emmaline exclaimed when he walked in the front door.

She took the box from him and dashed into the bathroom. Sherlock turned slightly pink as he took his coat off and hung it in the coat closet. He walked into the kitchen to check on the chicken; the oil popped happily, as he lifted the lid to check. A few more minutes and it would be done.

Emmaline came into the kitchen, dragging her feet.

"Thanks for going to the store for me." She cleared her throat. "That was nice of you."

"Not a problem." Sherlock smiled before turning back to the chicken.

"Did you just smile?" Emmaline asked, caught off guard.

Sherlock turned around, brow cocked. "I smile a lot."

Emma shook her head and walked all the way into the kitchen, to stand in front of Sherlock.

"It reached your eyes this time; you never smile with your eyes." She smiled happily and backed up so he could turn to check on their food.

It never reached his eyes? What did that mean? Sherlock shook his head and chose not to think of it just then. He turned the stove off and put chicken on two different plates, handing one to Emmaline.

She grabbed their forks and they made their way out to the living room.

"How many more films do we have to watch?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh, I said this would take more than one weekend. I have a whole list and it is rather long."

They sat down and Emmaline pushed play on the _Titanic _menu.

ᶓ

"_I'll never let go Jack. I'll never let go." _

Emmaline was curled up next to Sherlock and they were sharing a blanket. Emma was crying, because she knew what would happen next and it got to her every single time.

Sherlock sat watching the screen not quite understanding why she was so upset. Yes, the man was dying of frostbite. What he did not understand was, why did she not move over on the door? Surely there was room for the both of them.

"Why are you crying?" He whispered, keeping his eyes on the screen.

"Sentiment." She replied through a throat thick with tears.

The corners of his mouth quirked up into a smile. She did not have to waste time explaining anything to him; the one little word had done it. In the almost three months she had known him, she had learned he did not understand sentiment. Was she trying to get him to watch this movie then to give him a reference point? Or simply because she liked it?

Emma's head fell over to rest on his arm and he looked down; in the flickering light of the television, he saw her closed eyes. She had fallen asleep. Sherlock turned the television off and then the DVD player. Emmaline's bedroom was just down the hall; that was not too far to carry her.

Sherlock stood up gingerly from the sofa and put his arms under Emmaline's sleeping form. She sighed in her sleep and curled into him, one of her hands clutching his shirt in her fist. The corner of his lips tugged up in a smile.

He stepped away from the couch and down the hall, opening her door by pushing his back against it. He set her down in bed and pulled the blankets up around her, tucking her in. She took in a deep breath and rolled over, facing the wall. Sherlock sighed and turned to leave. As he did, he caught sight of her nightstand.

On it were two picture frames. One was a picture of a magnolia tree and the other was a black and white photo of a younger Emmaline with who Sherlock assumed was her mother. The woman had an arm around the young Emmaline and they were laughing, Emmaline buried in the crook of her mother's arm.

Sherlock could see the resemblance. The full lips and bedroom eyes were evident in the black and white photo, but the nose must have been her fathers. He set the photo down and turned the light out, closing the door silently.

It was only 9:30 and she had intended him to stay over all weekend to watch films. Sherlock thought that since this had been her intention, it would be silly to go home. Instead he grabbed a blanket from the hall closet and settled himself on the couch. Not quite tired, he turned the DVD player and the TV back on and finished _Titanic. _

Sherlock supposed he could see why Emmaline fancied it, but he still was not sure why everyone was so upset. The door was what was bothering him more than anything was. He made a mental note to try it out sometime to see if they both could have fit.

When the movie finished, he turned both electronics off and turned over on the couch, drawing the blanket up around him.

ᶓ

Emmaline sat up in bed, blinking her eyes. It was morning and she was in her bed. _How did I get here? _Emma rubbed her eyes and threw the blankets off. The last thing she remembered was Jack Dawson sinking into the icy depths of the ocean and thinking how soft and warm Sherlock was.

She stretched her arms above her head and froze. _Oh my god, Sherlock. Did he carry me in here? _Emma got up and walked out into the hall. First things first, she had to go to the bathroom and then get breakfast.

Emma washed her hands and dried them, throwing the towel into the laundry bin in the hall. She was on her way to the kitchen when she passed the couch and halted. Someone was on her couch…

Moving carefully around the couch she inched her way closer; once she had the coffee table between her and the occupant, she leaned forward to move the blanket down from the man's face. She softened as she recognized the mop of dark brown curls. _Just Sherlock. _

Emmaline breathed out a sigh of relief. _He looks so peaceful. _When he was awake, Sherlock looked troubled and lonely. Sleeping he looked almost angelic. Emma reached forward a tentative hand to brush the curls from his forehead. He stirred and burrowed deeper into the couch, but did not wake up.

Sitting on the coffee table, Emma scooted closer. She had never before noticed his scent: tobacco and vanilla. It was a very odd combination but everything about Sherlock was odd. She sat there for a few minutes, watching him sleep. He seemed almost human, almost normal.

However, Emmaline liked him for all his quirks and faults. That was what made him _Sherlock. _Her Sherlock. Emma brushed the stray curls once again before getting up and entering the kitchen. She was not sure what Sherlock liked, so she decided she would surprise him with buttermilk pancakes.

Sherlock lay on the couch, frozen. He had felt someone touching his face and had dug deeper into the couch but had woken up. He had smelled the orange shampoo she had been using for the past month. When she did not move, he was not sure whether he should get up or not. Was she waiting for him to move? Then her hand had touched his forehead again, brushing his hair from his face.

He listened to her retreating footsteps and just laid there, the scent of oranges lingering in the air. After a few minutes, he pushed the blanket off and sat up, staring into the kitchen. She was at the stove cooking breakfast. Sherlock decided to get up and go help.

He cracked his back and loped into the kitchen, yawning. He had not slept well on the hard sofa.

"Hey, you're up." She smiled brightly and handed him a plate with a stack of pancakes. "Do you like syrup? There's some in the cabinet up there if you do."

Sherlock reached mechanically up for the syrup and poured it over his stack. He cut into them with his fork and took a large bit.

"Mmm," he moaned. "These are good." He took another bite.

Emma smiled and put her own pancakes on a plate. "I'm glad you like them. Could you pass the syrup please?" Sherlock passed the bottle over. "Thanks."

"So what films did you have in mind for today?" He asked, spearing more pancakes on his fork.

"I thought we could watch _Rocky_, _The Lion King, _take a lunch break and walk somewhere, and then come back and watch _Fight Club, _and then maybe _Psycho_."

"Four films?" He asked disbelieving before placing the bite in his mouth.

"Too many?" Emmaline asked, unsure.

She and her mother had often made weekends all about watching new films, and on a Saturday, they could watch as many as six movies.

"No, it's fine." Sherlock took another bite of his pancakes. "We'd better get started if we're going to watch all of them."

ᶓ

Emma yawned. She was again curled under a blanket next to Sherlock. They were almost done with _Psycho_, and it was only seven o'clock.

"I don't know why I'm so tired." She said sleepily as she nestled into her couch buddy.

_It probably has something to do with Sherlock being so goddamn warm! _She rested her head against his shoulder as her eyes drooped.

"Hey Sherlock." She mumbled.

"Hmm?" He brought his cheek down to rest on the top of her head. Her drowsiness was contagious it seemed.

"Next weekend we can do something you want, since I got this weekend."

"Alright." He agreed, drawing the blanket tighter around them.

"Goodnight Sherlock." She whispered, inhaling the scent of vanilla.

"Goodnight Emmaline." He whispered back, breathing in the scent of oranges that her hair held.

Both people promptly fell asleep, the TV still on and the credits rolling.

**A/N: If you hadn't noticed, I'm uploading quite a bit today as I'm not sure if I'll be able to do anything this week as I'm going back to school. We'll see. **

**Please click that nice large button down there that says review!**


	9. Chapter 9: Cluedo

Chapter 9: Cluedo

"Wait, say that again." Emmaline demanded, leaning over the table.

"It was the victim, in the drawing room, with the gun."

"How did the victim do it?" Emma sat back and crossed her arms, waiting, and a bemused smirk on her face.

Sherlock opened his mouth to explain when there was a knock on the door.

"Sherlock its Lestrade; open the door."

Sherlock looked nervously at Emmaline and thought of the morphine bottle he had hidden in his bedroom. _How could he know? I was careful this time. _He stood from his seat slowly and walked to the front door, opening it an inch.

"What is it?" He whispered.

"There has been a murder – we need you at the crime scene."

Sherlock sighed happily and opened the door all the way.

"Emmaline, I have to go to a scene. Are you coming?" He gathered his coat from the closet as he spoke.

"Yeah – let me grab my sweater."

"Is this it?" Lestrade picked a sweater off the back of the couch and held it out.

Emmaline eyed it warily. Yes, it was her sweater, but she had been offered her own items before. And bad things had always happened when she took her things from others. Emma stepped back and closed her eyes, trying to think of something better, something happy. Her mother had told her always to think of something that made her happy when _those _dark thoughts intruded.

_Sherlock. _Her mind immediately jumped to the detective. _He is safe, a friend. A good person. A friend. _

Sherlock watched Emmaline quietly; he approached Lestrade and took the sweater from him. He stepped towards her and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. Her brown eyes snapped open as her breath hitched. He kept a firm grip on her shoulder and commanded her gaze.

"I have your sweater." He held it up so she could see it. "Do you understand?" Emmaline nodded her head shortly.

Sherlock handed it over and she put it on slowly. Lestrade stood in the back, silently thinking. He had seen it on a couple of occasions, her acting strange like this with every man _but _Sherlock. He had seen females acting similarly in other cases he had done, in his early days on the force. He would have to do some research to be sure, but Lestrade could guess why she acted that way.

He wondered if Sherlock knew, or if he just knew how to react around her. He doubted the man knew anything about the subject Lestrade was guessing. Sherlock must have just observed her behavior and adjusted himself accordingly.

Sherlock brushed a lock of hair from Emmaline's forehead and glanced at her shortly before standing up straight.

"Are you alright?" Lestrade asked, holding his hands up.

"Yes. I'm sorry." Emmaline apologized, gazing at the floor.

"No need to apologize, I understand."

Emma's head snapped up at his words. Her eyes pierced the distance between them as she stared, trying to discern what he meant. Sherlock grabbed Emma's hand and tugged.

"Let's go." He led the way out the door, pushing Lestrade to the side and away from Emmaline.

Lestrade watched them walk down the stairs, still holding hands, and a goofy smile spread across his face. He shut Sherlock's door and followed the two down to the street.

"Here's the address." Lestrade handed Sherlock a slip of paper. "Give that to the cabbie and be right behind us."

"Why aren't we going in the police car?" Emmaline asked, looking between the two of them.

Sherlock stiffened and gave Lestrade a look. Lestrade saw. "Sherlock does not like police cars." He shrugged his shoulders and got into his own car.

Sherlock held his arm up and waved, hailing a cab. Emma bit her lip, wondering if she should ask. Sometimes he would answer her questions, and other times not. When they were seated comfortably in the cab and were on their way, she decided to voice her question.

"Sherlock, why don't you like riding in police cars?"

He closed his eyes and thought of Lestrade shoving him in the back of one and dragging him off to drug rehab, for his recreational cocaine use. Another flashed through his mind of being escorted away from his family home in a police car after his father had killed himself in front of his brother, his mother, and him. He had been twelve.

"I just do not."

His icy tone caused Emma to shiver and look away. She knew there was no point in asking again, because he would not answer. The ride to the scene was filled with an uncomfortable silence, the first that Emmaline could remember. Usually when they did not talk it was comfortable and neither were bothered by it. This silence felt wrong. It felt almost like a fight, but neither of them had said much.

"We're here." Sherlock threw some bills at the driver and got out, taking Emmaline's hand to help her out.

Lestrade walked out to meet them, handing gloves to Sherlock.

"You might not want to come in Ms. Johnson, it's a bit messy." Lestrade warned her.

"I will be fine."

After their 'spat' in the cab, if it could be called that, she was eager to prove herself. Emma felt that she had not done anything wrong but she knew that to get back in Sherlock's good graces she could watch him be brilliant and compliment him on it.

"Alright." Lestrade's lips formed a thin line but he handed her a pair of gloves as well.

Sherlock entered the shabby apartment and walked straight to the body.

"Who is this?" A man with brown hair and glasses turned to question Lestrade, pointing at Sherlock.

"This is Sherlock Holmes; he consults with us on cases." Lestrade explained.

"We don't need someone to consult. We know this is a rubbery gone wrong."

"WRONG!" Sherlock pronounced, still studying the body.

Emma swallowed the lump in her throat as she joined them. The shabby apartment was dirty, how the occupant kept it. Blood was splattered on the white walls and the man lying on the floor had clearly suffered. He had multiple lacerations to the face, stab wounds to the chest, and fingers missing.

"How the hell is that a robbery gone wrong?" Emma asked her voice shaking.

The brown-haired man turned to look at her. "And who the hell is this?"

"She works with Mr. Holmes." Lestrade said.

The Detective Inspector watched carefully as Emma took in the crime scene. She clearly was disgusted by the gruesome nature of the crime however, the room was full of police men walking near her. She shuddered when one brushed her arm walking past her. Lestrade observed as she darted quickly into the room to stand by Sherlock, effectively avoiding everyone else in the room.

"And who are you?" She retorted once she was safely by Sherlock's side.

"I'm Dr. Anderson, the forensics expert around here."

Sherlock snorted and stood. Emmaline turned her face into her shoulder and closed her eyes, trying to clear the sight of the body from her memory.

"This was not a robbery – it was a crime of passion. You should contact this man's friends and find out who he was seeing – it was most certainly a lover."

"And how do you know that?" Anderson asked, staring Sherlock down with cold eyes.

Sherlock stood up straight and stared smugly down at the new man.

"This was not a robbery – nothing here has been removed. You can tell because dust is on everything and _nothing _has been disturbed. Based on the size and depth of the slashes you are looking at someone with a manicure, probably gets her nails done regularly too. The depth of the stab wounds implies a kitchen steak knife was used – and that the attacker was relatively weak, adds to the female theory. The number of injuries assumes that the attacker was in a rage."

Emmaline peeked at Sherlock staring down at Anderson. He seemed proud, and vengeful; this was where he thrived, putting others down for not noticing.

"Manicured nails, an inebriated victim, no robbery, the injuries inflicted here, it all points to a jealous female." Sherlock peeled his bloody gloves off and threw them at an officer.

"What makes you think he was drunk?" Anderson crossed his arms and continued to question Sherlock.

"There are four beer cans on the coffee table; condensation still on the side and their dust patterns _have _been moved."

Sherlock turned to the bemused Lestrade. "Please get a competent staff."

Anderson snorted and threw his hands, walking outside. Sherlock looked over his shoulder to see a timidly smiling Emmaline.

"Let's go; the police have what they need."

"Thanks for coming down Sherlock." Lestrade yelled as they left.

Emma turned her head back and waved. She hurried after Sherlock and got into the cab he had hailed. The first few minutes were passed in silence. Emmaline looked out the window, and Sherlock stole glances at her every few moments. He felt bad for having snapped at her on the way there.

"Emmaline…I'm sorry."

She turned her head at his voice and cast her eyes on his sincere expression.

"You have nothing to apologize for; you didn't want to talk about it and that is fine." Emma patted his hand.

Sherlock looked down at it before she removed her hand to her own lap.

"Are we going to resume our game of Cluedo?" He asked as they neared her street.

"Of course." She smiled at him. "You still have to tell me how the victim could have done it."

Sherlock found himself smiling back. She pushed his shoulder playfully before looking back out her window, the smile still on her face.

ᶓ

That night when Lestrade got home he ordered takeout and pulled his laptop out. There was no way he could know for certain, since he had no access to Emma's records, if there were records, but he could Google and make assumptions.

He spent awhile fiddling around on the internet, checking different sites and even emailing a doctor friend of his with some questions about Emma's behavior. When the reply came in Lestrade's mouth opened wide and he ran his hands down his face in shock. That was certainly a possibility…and one he had not thought of. If that was what was going on with her, what had _happened _to her, and Sherlock did not know…Lestrade sighed. He doubted if Sherlock would even understand what it all meant. And Emmaline still had not told him. Lestrade wondered if she ever would.

**A/N: Ahh, Lestrade thinks he knows! **


	10. Chapter 10 The Past and All Its Problems

Chapter 10: The Past and All Its Problems

Sherlock slammed the door shut and shed his coat, throwing it carelessly over the couch. He rubbed his eyes and fell into bed, exhausted. His dark room and warm bed invited him in like an old friend. He wrapped the covers around himself and burrowed deep into the pillows.

Even at one in the afternoon, Sherlock could fall asleep. He had stayed up all last night on morphine and had been about to go to bed when Lestrade had phoned him, demanding his help on a case. So Sherlock had obliged and had instead gone with the Detective Inspector, not bothering to congratulate him on his recent promotion.

It had been a couple weeks since the crime scene he had looked at with Emmaline, and she was back in school now. He had seen her less frequently because of it. However Lestrade had kept him busy with case work. The first break he had gotten in days he had injected himself with morphine to try and get some sleep but all it had done was keep him awake.

As soon as the effects had worn off he had tried to get some sleep only to have Lestrade knocking down his door again. So he had finally gotten home at one in the afternoon and was trying to get some rest. Sherlock sighed as his face sank into the feathery down and his eye closed to find only sweet darkness.

ᶓ

Sherlock moaned and rolled over, his hand reaching out for his ringing phone. He flipped it open and mumbled into it.

"Sherlock?" Emmaline's bright voice rang from the other end of the line.

"Hello?" He mumbled again, sitting up in bed.

"I was wondering if you could help me with my Psychology homework."

"Yeah, sure."

Sherlock stifled a yawn and looked over at his bedside clock. It was five in the afternoon, meaning he had gotten four hours of sleep.

"Come over and I'll order takeout." He continued, trying to rub his tired eyes into alertness.

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes." She hung up the phone.

Sherlock called the Chinese takeout place to order dinner for them both, before tossing his phone onto the bed and stretching out his legs. The warm bed still sounded so inviting, but Emmaline was coming over and he needed to straighten up the flat.

He moved his heavy legs over the side and stood, stretching his back as he got up. He dragged his feet out into the living room and started picking up books and newspapers from the floor. Sherlock plumped the pillows on the couch – a recent gift from Mycroft – and threw a blanket over the back of it.

He yawned audibly as he shuffled over to the desk, clearing it of the old case files he had pulled out to stave off boredom. Underneath was a DVD copy of the second season of _Star Trek. _Sherlock picked it up and put it on the shelf with the others. He remembered well going to Mycroft's house to get them.

_Sherlock sloshed through the puddle of rain on the sidewalk and drew his coat tighter around him. _Emmaline thinks it summer, ha! Fickle London weather…_he ran up the street to the large house, sitting in the middle of London. The cab driver had dropped him off a few blocks away, at Sherlock's insistence. _

_His hand pounded heavily on the door with no reprieve – he wanted the DVD's, and then he wanted gone. He had no patience with his brother Mycroft. _

_The door opened, spilling a warm and inviting orange glow over the front steps. _

"_Sherlock, I'm surprised to see you here." _

_Mycroft stepped aside as Sherlock stepped in the house, shivering. _

"_No you're not; you had a car following me all the way."_

"_As attentive as ever I see." Sherlock took his coat off and threw it over the fire grate. If he were going to be here, he would at least let his coat dry. _

"_To what do I owe this visit?" Mycroft asked. He watched as his brother warmed his hands in the fire. "I hope it is not to ask about the trust fund again."_

_Sherlock rolled his eyes. "No I need to borrow some DVD's of yours." _

_Mycroft cocked his brow. "Borrow DVD's? You do not own a television, let alone a device with which to watch them."_

"_Just, can I have them?" Sherlock asked rather impatiently. _

_He had not seen his brother in person in two years and he was loathing changing that but, he wanted Emmaline to watch the series with him and so he needed Mycroft's copies of the show._

"_Which DVD's?" Mycroft inquired, turning to his cabinet. _

_Sherlock stood in front of the cabinet and leaned over, searching. It was full of VHS tapes and DVD's, all alphabetized. _

_Sherlock grabbed the first three seasons of _Star Trek _and stood up. _

"_This will do, thank you." _

"_I will be expecting these back." Mycroft warned. _

"_Yes, I know." Sherlock sighed impatiently before grabbing his still soaked coat. _

_He cast one last regretful look at the warm fire before heading towards the door, and the cold rain. _

"_Sherlock, if I might ask, why do you want them so badly?" Mycroft's curiosity was genuine. He had not seen his little brother in two years and now here he was asking for something so inconsequential as to borrow a DVD. _

_His brother did not answer. He paused on the doorstep a moment before throwing open the door and heading back out into the night, the discs tucked securely under his coat. _

Sherlock was broken from the reverie by a knock at his door. He opened it to see Emmaline standing there with her book bag.

"Hey." She smiled widely at him before entering his flat and moving straight for the desk.

She pulled out her Psych homework and handed it over to him for him to read. After a few minutes, he looked up.

"I don't understand any of this." He tossed the book down on the table and flopped into the chair opposite her.

Emmaline sighed but pulled the book towards her.

"What good is your mind palace if you don't store useful information there?" She mumbled to herself, but Sherlock heard.

"I store plenty of useful information!" He protested.

Emmaline looked up from her text and smiled. "I meant useful to me." She clarified.

Sherlock chuckled darkly when there was another knock on the door.

"Is that the takeout?" Emmaline asked, while copying notes.

"Yes; I think that's the fastest they have ever come."

Sherlock grabbed his wallet from his bedroom and went to get the food. Emmaline sat at the table, trying to understand what she was reading.

"Pavlov, unconditioned response," she kept muttering to herself, searching the text.

Sherlock put her food down in front of her and she looked up.

"Thanks." She smiled. "Oh!" She looked down at her notebook and started scribbling furiously about the dogs and their saliva. "You are a genius Sherlock." His handing her the food had reminded her of Pavlov's experiments with salivating dogs.

She paused in her note taking to take a bite of the chicken and noodles. She noticed Sherlock sitting back in his seat, also eating.

"You ordered some for yourself too?"

"I figured you would throw a fit if I didn't." He answered before taking his own bite.

Usually when he ordered takeout, he would only get Emma food, something that infuriated her. She would often remind him that he needed to eat too, especially when he was not on a case. Sometimes he would just forget to eat and Emma would have to force some of her Chinese down his throat.

"Well I'm glad you remembered that your body needs fuel. Honestly Sherlock, what would you do without me?"

Sherlock thought about it. Before Emmaline, he usually ate just a few times a week. Breakfast was a meal he frequented, but he often just forgot about lunch and dinner. Now she would bring him doughnuts and orange juice every Saturday and Sunday morning, they often went out to dinner during the week – or she would come over and cook for him.

When she did cook, she made plenty so that he would have leftovers for lunch. Sherlock often found little notes hidden in the house from her reminding him to eat at a certain time. When he was on a case however she mostly let him be. Last week he had gone almost three days without a meal and she had come over and forced him to eat a plate of chicken and vegetables and a glass of milk.

"I do not know." He answered honestly. "Probably starve until I remembered to go out."

Emma smiled and slurped more noodles into her mouth. Sherlock took a bite of chicken and stared at her homework. He did not understand any of it, nor did he know who Pavlov was. Maybe he could help with other homework. Sherlock grabbed her book bag and started rifling around in it. There was not much inside – a notebook, a few loose pencils, and a book.

Emmaline said nothing while he searched. He usually looked through her book bag when he was bored and on one occasion she had found him looking through her purse. He had told her she was looking for a pen but all he had found where 'photographs and tampons'. She had made a point of telling him not to look through her purse, but her book bag was fair game.

Sherlock pulled the book out and glanced at the front cover. _Jane Eyre. _

"What is this?" He asked, holding it up.

Emmaline looked up to see what he was talking about.

"_Jane Eyre, _it's a novel. Have you not read it?"

"No."

Sherlock quickly flipped through the book, glancing every now and again at random pages.

"It looks boring."

"No it is really good. I am done with it actually, if you want to borrow it."

Sherlock opened the book to the first page and began reading to himself. Emma smiled and finished her dinner. She knew that was his way of saying 'yes, thank you', and that he would take it and read it.

She threw away her takeout container and sat back down to her homework. Sherlock, now twenty pages in, looked over at Emmaline. She was putting her Psych book back in her bag, having finished her work.

"Do you have another date?" Sherlock asked casually.

Emmaline had not made much mention of her time out with Chesterton and he was curious as to who else she might be spending her time with. She did after all spend almost all of her time at school, or home, or at Nonni's, or at his flat.

"No I don't. I'm not sure if I like any of the boys at school."

"Why?" Sherlock asked.

"They're too dull." She shrugged her shoulders.

Sherlock put the book down on a pile of magazines. He would give it a chance. He started tapping a rhythm on his thighs, slow and melodic. Emmaline watched him; he did this often.

"Do you play any musical instruments?"

"The violin."

"Where did you learn?"

"My brother and I had a music teacher. Mycroft quickly disowned her so I was her only student. I just had a natural gift for the violin; any other instrument I was awkward on."

"Why don't you have one?"

"I never saw the need for one." Sherlock shrugged.

"What were your tutors like?" Emmaline leaned forward and put her chin in her hand.

Sherlock saw her interested gaze and sighed. He had refrained from telling her too much of his childhood because he did not like to dwell on it. He had given her safe answers – tonight he would have to search for some more.

"I had a music teacher, a French teacher, a History and Geography teacher…" Sherlock trailed off, trying to remember. "I suppose there was one for math and English as well."

"Mycroft got top marks in everything – he actually cared about learning. I brushed it all aside as unimportant." Sherlock shrugged. "My mother berated me constantly for it until I straightened up my last two years of learning. I forgot most of what I deemed unimportant after I left University."

"Did your father not care about your marks?"

Sherlock paused. A single image of scarlet staining the crème living room walls flashed through his mind.

"No, he wasn't particularly concerned about it." He looked up from the wood grain of the desk and into Emmaline's brown eyes. "Do I get some of your history in return for mine?"

Emma smiled softly. Sherlock's sad and lonely past felt so much like her own – she had been alone too, except for her mother.

"I grew up in Chicago; I mean downtown Chicago. My mother was an artist, so my dad supported the family. He had a factory job. I spent most of my time at school and with my mom. I loved her photographs. Actually, she first put a brush in my hand. She would pay for all of my art classes." Emma smiled fondly.

"I was not close to my dad. He nursed the bottle whenever he came home and he and my mom fought a lot. I mean, every day. She would never admit to it, but I used to see bruises on her. One day he and my mom got into this huge fight and he just left. They got divorced and my mother took me down to this small Texas town. She had a couple of boyfriends after that but no one serious." Emma shrugged.

"My dad drank too." Sherlock whispered.

Emma looked at the sorrowful expression in Sherlock's eyes. She reached out a hand to cover his hand that rested on the table. Their eyes met and between them passed a mutual understanding of the other's history. Both had been lonely, and both had suffered. But now they had each other and it was clear in their gazes that they cared for one another, even if they never talked about their friendship. It was just natural.

Emma perked up and smiled. "I forgot to tell you – I found a job! I am a shop girl now, every Saturday from noon to eight."

"Congratulations!" Sherlock smiled faintly and retracted his hand.

He was uncomfortable with how much of himself he had shared; he had never intended for her to know his dad had been an alcoholic. But her confession had made it easier for him to say.

"I have to go, it's getting late, and I have school tomorrow."

"Alright."

Emma stood from the desk and grabbed her bag. She leaned over and kissed Sherlock's cheek. "You like tired, get some sleep."

She walked out of the flat and left. Sherlock rubbed his eyes and stepped into his bedroom. His eyes immediately flicked to the sock drawer where he kept the bottle of morphine. He closed his eyes and breathed out through his nose. _No. _

Shaking his head, Sherlock collapsed into bed. He drew the covers up around himself and fell asleep instantly. And his dreams were not plagued by the gruesome memory of his father's death and his family's inability to save Sherlock from himself.

Instead, he dreamt of a mirror. However, he did not see himself reflected in it… When Sherlock woke up the next morning, he could not remember whose reflection it was. Nonetheless, he woke up happy and refreshed, and better than he had felt in ages. 


	11. Chapter 11: Can't Fight the Moonlight

Chapter 11: Can't Fight the Moonlight

"Got your coat?" Emma yelled from Sherlock's living room.

"Yes." Sherlock came out from the bedroom. "This better be a good movie – it is cold out."

"Well I will certainly like it – you do not like anything." She teased as they walked out of the apartment building.

"Ha." Sherlock laughed dryly. He bundled down into his coat and pressed himself against Emmaline's side as they walked.

For being August, it was certainly cold out. They walked at a brisk pace to the cinema and rushed inside. Sherlock's teeth were chattering and Emma's cheeks had turned pink from the cold. Emma took her hands out of her pockets and put them on Sherlock's face, warming him. He followed her example and placed the backs of his hands on her cheeks.

She exhaled, happy. His hands were quickly warming her cold face.

"I'll get tickets, you get snacks?" She double-checked.

"That's how we always do it." He confirmed before walking away to the snack counter.

Emma smiled and pulled out her wallet, approaching the ticket counter.

"Two for _Coyote Ugly _please."

The girl behind the glass smiled. "You and your boyfriend are so cute! My boyfriend would never go see a chick flick with me."

"I watched _Star Trek _with him so he kind of owes me." Emma explained with a giggle, handing over the money.

"I could watch whatever my guy wanted and he _still _wouldn't see it with me. You're lucky!" The young woman gushed.

"Thanks." Emma blushed as she was handed her tickets.

On her way over to the snack counter, her mind raged. _What was that? Sherlock is a _friend! _Yeah, but there was no reason to embarrass that girl by proving her wrong. That would be a Sherlock thing to do. _

"Ready?" He tilted the popcorn box in her direction so she could grab some.

Emma grabbed a handful. "Yeah; theatre three."

She popped the snack in her mouth and chewed as they entered the screen room and found seats in the back. They got comfortable as the movie began.

ᶓ

"That was so good!" Emmaline enthused as Sherlock held the door to Nonni's open for her.

"You've been saying that for ten minutes." He reminded her.

"Well it was!" They got in line together. "I mean, how awesome that they would dance on top of the bar! And the pretending to take a sip of beer? That is genius right there sir, pure genius."

"Genius? There was not anything 'genius' about it."

"I don't mean in your genius way Sherlock."

They grabbed their coffees and worked their way through the café to their usual spot on the couch. They both sat down with a huff, allowing the warm cups to spread their heat to their fingers.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you I had a date last Friday." Emma took a sip of her coffee.

"How was it?" Sherlock took a sip of his own coffee and sucked in his breath as the hot liquid hit the back of his throat.

"It was alright; towards the end of the night he got a bit too handsy."

"Does he know you do not like close physical contact?"

As he said it, Sherlock became hyperaware of her body pressed against his and his arm draped around her shoulders. _Interesting. I will have to write this down in the notebook. _His documented chronicles of her reactions to close male contact had mostly involved himself as the subject but he had recorded her few reactions to Lestrade. The whole debacle from the last crime scene she had attended had also gone into the notebook.

"He figured it out when I smacked him."

Sherlock chuckled at the thought of Emmaline hitting someone. Emmaline turned her head at the happy sound.

"You don't laugh very often." She pointed out.

"I don't often feel the need to." He said gently.

His piercing gaze caused Emmaline to stare, lost, into his blue-green eyes, before she found herself and turned her head forward, blushing. Sherlock noticed the slight color that flushed her cheeks. He did not know why her cheeks were pink and thought that maybe she was cold again. He brought his hand over to touch her cheek, but no, it was warm.

"I guess the coffees working too well." She tried to cover, with a small giggle.

Sherlock shrugged and did not think anything more of it. He drained the last of his coffee and put the empty cup on the small end table next to the couch.

"I won't be here for a few weeks in September." Sherlock proclaimed out of nowhere.

"What, why? Where are you going?" Emmaline reached over him to put her cup down. She gave him her full attention.

"I will be going to Florida to help with a case there. Lestrade recommended me."

"What is the case?" Emma crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap, listening intently. It had to be important if Sherlock had to go to America to help.

"It's a case of domestic abuse. Simple really. The man could be hanged with enough evidence. However, the wife does not want to testify. Her testimony is the prosecution's main advantage in the case. Without her, they are worried they will not be able to convict him. I am supposed to be going down to try and find evidence they might have missed."

"Do you think you will find anything?"

"No." Sherlock huffed. "But it might be worth it to ensure the man's hanging to plant some evidence."

"You would really do that?" Emmaline asked, taken aback.

Sherlock shrugged. "It depends."

Emmaline sat there, stunned into silence. She had never heard Sherlock talk about tampering with evidence. To him it was all about the clean cut facts of the case. However, she thought, if it was her she would do the same. Her father had abused her mother and she knew what it did. It made you afraid.

Emmaline guessed that possibly Sherlock was so impassioned about it because maybe, just maybe, his father had hit his mother too. He had already admitted that his father had been a drinker.

She grabbed his hand and helped him off the couch. "Come on, let's go back to your place, and play a game."

"What game?"

"Oh I want the chance to beat you _at least _twice more at Monopoly before you leave."

"That is a game of chance!" Sherlock protested.

"Exactly! So I have a better _chance _of winning than you do."

She laughed at Sherlock's expression. "Come on. The sooner we get home, the sooner we can play. And I'll cook you dinner."

"Can you make shepherd's pie this time?" Sherlock requested, again sidling close to Emmaline to keep warm.

"I can try but no guarantees it will be good."

"Everything you make is good."

"You know, for someone who forgets to eat regularly, you do enjoy food."

"I never said I did not like it. I just forget to partake in its deliciousness."

"Spending too much time alone can do that to someone I guess."

"I suppose it never helped that Mycroft was always stealing food off my plate."

Emmaline snorted in laughter. Sherlock smiled; he was glad that he could make her laugh.

"Come on, I have to feed you." Emmaline looped her arm through Sherlock's and they hurried down the cold street back to Montagu Street.

_There will always be a reason why you meet people. Either you need them to change your life or you are the one that will change theirs. _

**A/N: It is the end of August so our characters have known each other for about four months now. I would like to thank all the lovely reviewers; I enjoy reading your comments! Please leave more for me to love and read over and over!**


	12. Chapter 12: Missing You

**A/N: This chapter is mostly dialogue as Sherlock is in Florida and Emma is in London, so they talk on the phone. Just fair warning. Enjoy!**

Chapter 12: Missing You

September 15:

"How's the hotel?" Emmaline spoke into her new cell phone.

Sherlock had called her as soon as he had gotten to the hotel, just as he said he would.

"It's alright. The American police are paying for it so I guess I got what they were willing to pay for."

Emma laughed and put the phone in the crook of her neck. She picked up her charcoal pencil and sketchpad and began doodling what she thought Sherlock might have looked like upon entering his room.

"Is the bed comfy at least?"

Sherlock rolled into it and lay still for a few seconds, testing it.

"Meh, it is alright. Probably will not do any favors for my back. I'll have to get more pillows – these are absurdly thin."

"How is the television over there?" She inquired.

"The news is on – CNN. I don't think they have BBC here."

Emma could hear the pout in his voice. Her hand continued to move up and down the page as she outlined his face.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"Drawing."

Sherlock blew out his breath. He was even more bored in Florida, particularly without Emmaline.

"When are you going to look for evidence?"

"I start tomorrow. I have to be there for the questioning of Mr. and Mrs. Hudson and I get to ask my own questions if I want to." He replied.

"That sounds like…not something you do."

"No. I am looking forward to getting to the scene."

Emma laughed. "Of course you are." She drew in the sharp planes of Sherlock's face, shadowing them. "Did you finish _Jane Eyre_?"

"I read it on the plane. You know, it was not bad. Certainly better than I expected."

"Did you understand the sentiment?"

"Some of it."

Emma raised a brow before moving the phone to her other side. "Well good for you."

Sherlock's lips curled into a smile. "I thought Jane's schooling particularly cruel. And Mr. Rochester's maiming to me seemed unnecessary."

"I'm not even going to try and explain this book to you over the phone. Many hand gestures are needed."

Sherlock chuckled and turned the telly off. "I look forward to it when I get home."

"When will that be?" There was no hiding the longing in Emmaline's voice. She wanted her Sherlock home again.

"It depends on when this case gets done. The sooner that woman can be convinced to testify the better." Sherlock ran a hand over his eyes.

"Hey, I have to go to bed. It is eleven o'clock here." Emma said, glancing over at her clock.

"I am exhausted too." The clock on Sherlock's end table read six o'clock.

"Goodnight Sherlock; good luck with the case."

"Goodnight Emmaline."

Emmaline hung up her phone and hooked it up to charge. She tossed her sketchpad onto her dresser and settled down for bed. In the dark of the room, she thought she saw something move. She quickly turned her light back on and sat up. Emma leaned over her bed and lifted up the bed-skirt to see under the bed. She breathed a sigh of relief; no monsters. She had not had to check under her bed since she had met Sherlock in London that first time.

Sherlock dug around in his luggage until he found what he had been looking for. The small bottle of morphine he had brought with him. He quickly gave himself a dose, just enough to get him to sleep. He collapsed into bed and drew the covers up around himself. The last fleeting thought he had was the he had not taken the drug in weeks – not since before Emmaline had come over for homework help.

September 17

Emmaline waited for Sherlock to call. It was nine o'clock, which meant it was about four in America. Her phone started chiming in her hand and she flipped it open.

"Hello?" She answered breathlessly.

"Hello, Emmaline?" Sherlock's clear voice on the other line made Emma relax.

"Yeah it is me. This is my phone, you can stop asking."

"Sorry I just wanted to make sure."

"It's alright, I understand." She sat in bed, waiting for him to speak. It was Sunday, which meant she had school the next day and could not stay up too late.

"I have not found anything in my perusal of the house they lived in. Mr. Hudson was very thorough in covering his tracks."

"So he did abuse her then?"

"Oh I certainly think so." Sherlock said, confident of this fact.

"Have you spoken to her yet?"

"A few times. She seems to be a very lovely lady. I have yet to speak to the husband. He refused to be questioned on Saturday."

"Do you know why she doesn't want to testify?"

"I don't understand, but she's told me she's still afraid of her husband."

"No you wouldn't." Emmaline whispered to herself. Into the phone she said, "Do you know why she's afraid?"

"She's concerned that if she testifies and he goes free he'll hurt her."

"You have to be nice, and try to tell her that with her testimony there will be no way he can walk."

"She won't listen to me."

"Tell her that you have a friend who didn't take the opportunity she was given, and that she regrets it."

Sherlock paused. What did that mean?

"Emmaline?"

"I have to go Sherlock, it is late. Remember to eat dinner."

"Oh, okay. Good night."

"Night."

Emmaline hung up and turned over in bed. She had let too much slip tonight. She had let him know too much. Keeping that information close was all she had. If he found out, would he still want to be her friend?

Sherlock hung up and flopped down onto the hotel bed. Did that mean Emmaline had been involved as a witness to something, had given up the chance to testify for something? Sherlock pulled out his notebook and wrote that down with a few question marks next to it. He closed the book and put it back in his luggage. Since Emmaline had reminded him, he was hungry. He had not eaten in a few days and topped with all the morphine he had taken over the last few days, he needed to fuel his body.

Sherlock grabbed his wallet and headed out, still trying to figure out exactly what Emmaline had meant.

September 21

"Hey, do you know anything about parabolas?"

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"Never mind."

Emmaline had her phone on speaker and sitting on her desk while she did math homework. Sherlock had been gone eight days now. Each night she had to check under her bed for monsters.

Each night he had to take morphine to get to sleep, in ever-increasing doses. Being separated had taken their toll and they each hoped for the case to end so they could see each other again. Sherlock however would not rest until Mrs. Hudson was safe. Speaking of Mrs. Hudson…

"She wants to talk to you tomorrow."

"Who does?"

"Mrs. Hudson, the woman being abused."

"Why does she want to talk to me?" Emma stuck her tongue between her lips in concentration as she drew a graph.

"Well she wants to talk to the friend I mentioned, and I am assuming that's you."

Emma paused. Yes, it was her. So Sherlock knew that she had refused to testify in a court case. He still did not know for what, or that it had been about her.

"Yeah I will talk to her. It just has to be after school."

"I told her that – she said it was fine."

"Oh, well." Emma was not sure how she felt talking about it, but if it got Sherlock home faster than she would try to help.

"Have you planted any evidence?" She asked, changing the subject.

"Not yet but I might have to. I will see this man get hanged, one way or another."

"Just be careful Sherlock."

"I will."

There was a pause. "Crap. My grandparents want me to go to dinner with them. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Bye."

"Goodbye."

September 22

"Hello dearie?" An old woman's voice came on the phone. A _British _voice.

Not someone who sounded very old, Emmaline thought, but maybe someone in her fifties. She sounded demure as well, and Emma imagined a tiny old woman in pearls.

"Yes, hello." Emmaline replied awkwardly.

"This young man, Sherlock, tells me that you have something to say to me."

"I just, I know how you feel." Emmaline started. "I know that you are afraid and that you do not want to see him go free. And doing anything against him will only hurt you later on. But it won't." Emma's voice got stronger as she spoke.

"Sherlock's right, you have to testify. That is the only way your husband will pay for what he has done. I had the chance to tell a jury and a judge exactly what had happened to me but I could not. I refused. Because I thought, he would go free and he would hurt me."

"Me not testifying ensured his freedom. He moved away, out of the state and I never saw him again. But that stayed with me – because he could be out there hurting other people and I did nothing to stop it." Emma's throat was thick with unshed tears.

"I feel awful every day knowing that it was me who let him go. Every day I feel that. And you should not have to. Because you sound really sweet Mrs. Hudson. You sound like someone who is tired of being beaten down and stepped on and I think you should stand in that witness box and tell those people what he did, so that he does not do it again."

Emma pulled the phone away so the other end could not hear her stifled cries. Her hand over her mouth, Emmaline sobbed. Having to relive everything that had happened with that man in this five-minute conversation had brought everything back to the surface.

"Dearie, are you okay?" Mrs. Hudson asked, concerned.

"No I'm not." Emmaline said while tears leaked from her eyes. "Don't be me Mrs. Hudson. Please don't be me." She whispered, tears flowing freely.

"Can I…can I ask what happened to you dearie?"

"I don't want him to know." She whispered. "And if I'm being honest, I'm still not ready to say it."

"Thank you for talking to me. I know how painful this must be."

"And I'm sorry that you know." Emma said.

Mrs. Hudson handed the phone to Sherlock.

"Are you alright Emmaline?" His worried voice came on the line.

"No. I am not. I want you to come home." She pleaded, still crying. "Please come home." Another sob forced its way out of Emmaline's sore throat.

She needed someone there who knew. No one _knew, _but Sherlock would sit there with her and be silent with her. That was what she needed. She needed _him. _

"As soon as I can." He promised. "Not a second later."

Emma covered her hand with her mouth and tried to calm her frayed nerves. Opening this wound, even partially, was like touching an exposed nerve. It hurt like nothing she had known before, this pain. Not even the act itself hurt as much as _living with it. _

"I have to go now Sherlock. I have to do homework."

"Remember to eat dinner." He said gently.

Emma laughed, her face still wet. "Yeah, I will." She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her shirt. "I will, so you remember too. Bye Sherlock."

"Bye Emmaline."

Emma closed her phone and threw herself on her bed, sobbing. She cried for everything: her lost mother, her drunkard father, Sherlock's alcoholic father, his distant brother. She cried for Sherlock himself. But mostly she cried for her.

September 27

"The trial is almost over." Sherlock said excitedly.

"A few more days and then you are coming home?" Emmaline asked.

"Yes."

"Hey, are you near any beaches?"

"I have been told there is one ten minutes away."

"Well then, I good sir, have a request. Could you please get me a bottle of sand? I am looking after your weird stomach lining experiment."

Sherlock laughed heartily into the phone. "Yes you are. Alright, a bottle full of sand."

"Thanks." Emma smiled into the phone.

"Have you painted anything while I was gone?" Sherlock asked. He was flipping through television channels, bored.

"I painted the red phone booth; the one I used to call you in."

"Is it hanging?" He asked, pausing his channel flipping at a meaningless cooking show.

"It is on my bedroom wall." She declared proudly.

"And are you doing well in school?"

"I am doing fabulously thank you for asking."

"Thank you, for whatever you said to Mrs. Hudson. I don't know what it was, but you convinced her."

"It's not a problem."

Her tone told Sherlock that she was not going to discuss the matter. There was a slight pause on both ends of the conversation.

"You've been talking on the phone a lot, but you told me you like texting. Why do you call?" Emma asked, genuinely curious.

Sherlock had told her he preferred texting to calling and actually _texted _Lestrade about cases.

"I like talking to you. It makes me think you are here."

"Me too." She said the smile evident in her voice.

"Oh the break is over – I have to go back into the courtroom now."

"Oh OK, bye!"

"Bye Emmaline." He whispered before hanging up.

Emma smiled and jumped off her bed. She had to start on her homework if she wanted to finish at a decent time.

September 30

"I'm coming home in a few days."

"When, exactly?" Emma asked impatiently.

"The case is over now, he was found guilty so he will hang."

"That's good news."

"It's very good news. Mrs. Hudson has decided to move back to London on her own. The police here are being very kind with her about it."

"That's good." Emma said.

Sherlock chuckled. "I should be home on the second."

"Of October? That's two days Sherlock."

Sherlock refrained he actually got home on the first. He wanted plenty of time to catch up on sleep and check on his experiments before seeing Emmaline.

"I know but the plane does take time to get there, and I have to finish up here."

Emma sighed. She knew he was right, of course. It still annoyed her.

"Alright. I've been really bored without you here."

"So have I." Sherlock thought of the almost empty bottle of morphine in his luggage. It had been full when he had arrived in Florida.

"Did you get a tan?"

"No, still pale as ever."

"Good. I think it would be strange seeing you not be pale."

Sherlock did not reply. He was busy packing up his clothes.

"Sherlock, what are you doing for Halloween?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Emmaline was shocked. She should not have been, it was, after all, Sherlock. "Do you want to pass out candy together?"

"At the flat?"

"Yeah at the flat." She said exasperated. Where else would they pass out candy? "I'll let you pick the costumes."

"Do I have to dress up?" Sherlock asked with a sigh.

"The rules of Halloween say 'yes'."

"Alright let me think about it and I will let you know."

"OK. It is late here, so I have to get to bed now. But I can't wait to see you on Monday."

"Neither can I." Sherlock smiled as he finished packing.

"Goodnight Sherlock."

"Goodnight Emmaline."

They both hung up. Emmaline checked under her bed one last time for the monster – but nothing was there. Content, she turned the light off and drew the blankets around her, waiting for Monday.

Sherlock drew out the last of his morphine and injected it carefully. Because so little of it was left, it did not create near the same effect as it had before. It created a mildly drowsy effect. Luckily, for him it was all he needed to fall asleep. He could not wait until Monday either. He would have to think of costume ideas on the plane, or he would have to wear whatever Emmaline picked out.

He smiled as he drifted off, wondering what she _would _pick if she could.


	13. Chapter 13: This is Halloween

**A/N: I would just like to thank **ThefadingdaysofMay **for being awesome and pointing out that in England there is no Thanksgiving! So I edited that little portion of the chapter. Thanks!**

Chapter 13: This is Halloween

Emma finished putting her curled hair up and looked at her reflection in the mirror. The red dress was a bit short for her taste, but that was the costume.

"Are you almost done Sherlock?" Emma yelled, walking into the main room.

"Just about." He called from the bedroom.

Sherlock walked out in black pants and blue sweater, his hair carefully gelled back.

"You look great!" Emma gushed.

"Can you help with the ears?" Sherlock asked, handing her the package.

"Yeah, come into the bathroom."

Sherlock sat down on the toilet seat while Emma tore open the package. She read the instructions carefully.

"OK we have to heat the glue and then put it on the tips of your ears, and put the silicon ear-tips on top and hold it there while it dries for three minutes." Emmaline grabbed the tube of glue. "I'm going to go heat this up."

She left the bathroom and went into the kitchen. She put the tube into the microwave and hit the time and 'start'. On the counter were four bowls full of assorted candies and chocolates. She and Sherlock had gone shopping days ago for it. Waiting for the glue to heat, Emmaline snagged a Butterfinger and ate the tiny candy.

"Mmm, that is so good!" She enthused in a hushed whisper. Sherlock had already berated her twice for catching her eating the candy.

The microwave buzzed and she pulled the glue out.

"Alright Sherlock, you ready to go Vulcan?"

"Yes!" He said with a smile.

When Sherlock had come home and told her that he had picked Spock and Uhura from _Star Trek_, she had not complained. They had gone and gotten their costumes the Saturday he had been back in London. Emma had not said a word about it because she was excited to see _him _excited about Halloween. She had a feeling that it was not a celebrated holiday in the Holmes household.

"Alright this might be hot." Emma warned.

Sherlock winced as the glue hit his ear. Quickly Emmaline grabbed the silicone ear-tip and pressed it on the glue.

"Please don't pick at your ears when I am done with this."

"Why would I pick at my ears?" He asked.

"I don't know, I'm just saying."

Emma looked at her watch. "Alright, time for the other ear."

She stepped around Sherlock and did the same to his right ear. When it had dried, she stepped back to admire her handy work.

"That looks great!"

Sherlock stood up and looked in the mirror. "It does look pretty good."

"Do the hand thing!" Emma implored.

"The Vulcan hand salute." Sherlock told her. He did, holding up his right hand, fingers apart just like in the show.

"Now say it." She urged.

"Live long and prosper." Sherlock said with authority.

"Just like Leonard Nimoy." Emmaline declared happily. "Come on its six o'clock – kids will be out by now."

She grabbed his arm and pulled him out to the kitchen where they each grabbed a bowl of candy and stepped out into the hall.

"Are you excited?" Emmaline asked.

"This is my first Halloween." Sherlock admitted. "We didn't celebrate it at home. Sometimes mummy and daddy would give us candy but we never got to go around asking for it."

"Well, next year we can." Emma promised.

"Aren't we too old?"

"You're never too old for Halloween." Emmaline told him, smiling.

"Trick-or-treat!" Two little girls approached them with open pillowcases.

"Oh you look so pretty!" Emmaline enthused.

She and Sherlock each gave them a piece of candy from the bowls.

"Thank you!" The girls trilled as they walked away.

"That was…fun." Sherlock said in a surprised tone.

When Emmaline had suggested doing Halloween he had thought it would be silly, but as the date had gotten closer, he had slowly started getting more excited about it. And now that he was _doing _Halloween, he was having fun.

More kids in costumes approached them all night, asking for candy. A few times kids would ask who he was and he would proudly tell them. Sherlock did not even care that they were confused about who Spock was. He was having _fun. _Something he had not had in a long time.

By nine o'clock when trick-or-treating had ended, Sherlock was hyped up. He wanted to go around giving out the rest of his candy. It took all of Emmaline's persuasive powers to get him back inside.

"When it's over, it's over." Emma shrugged. "You get to eat whatever is left." As she said this, she ripped open a Kit-Kat and bit into it.

"Are you just saying that because you want to eat the candy?" Sherlock asked seriously.

Emma laughed. "No; Halloween rules, I promise."

Sherlock sighed and sat down on the couch with a 'plop'. "I haven't had that much fun since I can remember." For the first time in a long time, Sherlock was not bored. He could not remember ever being _not _bored.

Emmaline sat down on the couch, lounging against the armrest and placed her feet in Sherlock's lap. She felt something hard against her back and reached behind her, pulling a book out of the couch.

"Here, read this to me." She tossed the book to him.

"_Sleepy Hollow._ Really?" Sherlock rolled his head to look at her.

"It's Halloween, that's a scary story. It's in the spirit of the holiday."

She popped another piece of candy in her mouth and handed him a Twix. "Just read it. I like it when you read to me."

Sherlock sighed but opened the book. Emmaline did in fact like listening to him read. He had a lovely voice and he did all the character voices.

Emmaline placed the bowl of candy on the floor and settled down to listen.

ᶓ

"Do you think it is too late to order takeout?" Emmaline asked as Sherlock finished the story.

"It's only ten-thirty." Sherlock looked at the time on his phone. He called their usual Chinese restaurant and ordered food.

"So how was your first Halloween?" Emmaline asked.

"I enjoyed it. Who will we be next year?" Sherlock asked enthusiastically.

Emma grinned at him. She was glad he had found something he could have fun at, even if it was only once a year.

"Well, next year I think I get to pick."

"That's only fair." Sherlock agreed.

"So we'll just have to see. I do not have anything picked out yet. I mean, Halloween did just end an hour ago."

There was a knock on the door that meant takeout had arrived. Emma got up and answered the door. She paid for their food and brought it back in, handing Sherlock his noodles and beef. She slid against the couch to sit on the floor.

"You can sit up here." Sherlock invited.

"I don't want to spill anything on the sofa and ruin it."

Sherlock thought this a good point and joined her on the floor.

"So, what did you normally do on Halloween?" Emmaline asked curiously.

"Sometimes Lestrade would call me in. Usually you get break-ins or murders on Halloween. It is nothing like Christmas though. At Christmas you get nice family murders, or suicides." Sherlock grinned delightedly.

"So that's how you spend the Holidays? Solving crimes?"

"Best present I could think of." Sherlock took a bite of his noodles.

Emma shook her head, a small smile on her lips. Sherlock was strange there was no doubting that. But his strangeness endeared him towards her. It was something she liked about him. She never knew what he would say, or what he would think of something.

"What about Thanksgiving? Do you see your family on Thanksgiving?" She inquired.

"No. We don't have Thanksgiving in England. That's an American tradition." Sherlock pointed out.

"Oh." Emmaline paused. "I guess I never thought about it but yeah, it is. So you don't have it at all?"

"No." Sherlock confirmed.

"We should have our own Thanksgiving." Emmaline said, picking her head up to look at him. "I could not come over in the day because I have school that day, but I could that night. For dinner we could have Cornish hens – those are enough like turkeys. And pumpkin pie!"

"Wonderful." Sherlock smiled. "My first Thanksgiving. My first Thanksgiving with Emmaline." He turned back to his food.

Emmaline smiled and her heart felt warm. He had said first, implying that there would be more. And she hoped there could be too. Already he seemed such a necessary part of her life. Emma hoped they could be friends for a long time.

They sat in a comfortable silence while they finished their dinner. When they were done, Emmaline took their containers and threw them away.

"I have to go home now; I have school tomorrow." Emma said, trying to stifle a yawn.

"You were over here too late." Sherlock reprimanded.

"Nonsense; there is no such thing as too late. I like spending time with you."

Sherlock walked her to the door and held it open for her.

"Goodbye Emmaline."

"Goodnight Sherlock."

She wrapped her arms around his middle, giving him a hug, before turning and walking down the stairs. Sherlock watched her go down the first flight before shutting his door.

His flat always felt empty once she left. Always he felt more alone. Before he had a friend he had not minded being by himself. Now the difference was palpable. Sherlock stepped into his bedroom and closed the door. He knew if he was going to get any sleep tonight he would have to take the drug.

He peeled the silicone ears off and washed the glue off his own ears. He took the sweater off and threw it into a corner of his room before settling down in bed to inject himself. Lately it had become something he _had _to do, and not just when he wanted it. It had become almost like a compulsion. Something that he had to put in his body to calm his nerves and get some sleep. Sherlock did not know if he could stop.

But all those bad thoughts went away as the needle pierced his skin and the liquid slid happily through his veins, warming his body. He sank against the pillows with a contented sigh and tumbled into the black tunnel that were his dreams.


	14. Chapter 14: And the World Crumbles Down

Chapter 14: And the World Crumbles Down

Emmaline stuck her tongue between her lips in concentration. She was trying to remember the name of a Psychologist for her essay and was having trouble. She was at Sherlock's flat typing her essay – on her new laptop – and waiting for him to finish getting ready.

It was his Friday so they were going to their usual dining out restaurant, an English place Sherlock liked. On her Friday's they usually went to get pizza. She heard the shower turn off, meaning Sherlock just had to get dressed and comb his hair.

Emmaline flipped a few pages in her book until she found what she was looking for and continued typing. She had just finished her last body paragraph when Sherlock walked out of the bathroom.

"Do you know where my shirt is?" He asked.

"Which shirt?" Emmaline sat up and turned around in the chair to face him.

Her heart stopped for a beat before picking back up with a furious drumming rhythm. Sherlock's wet hair was plastered down; tiny rivulets of water were working their way down his bare chest and arms. He stood before her in nothing but a towel, slung low about his hips.

Emma felt her mouth go dry and goose bumps work their way up her arms as she stared.

"Why…?" She mumbled before clearing her throat. She snapped her eyes back to his face, her face turning scarlet. "Why would I know where your shirt is?"

She turned around quickly and shoved her face into her laptop, pretending to go back to her essay.

"I'll just look in the bedroom then." Sherlock said, walking across the flat to his room.

Emma's eyes followed, watching the way his calf muscles flexed whenever he took a step. As soon as he had shut the bedroom door, she slammed her forehead into the desk.

"Ouch." She winced, picking her head up and rubbing her hand over it.

Emma shook her head, trying to clear it, and went back to her essay. She finished her conclusion and began to read it from the top, trying to edit. She was halfway through polishing her paper when Sherlock came out of the bedroom, fully dressed.

"Are you ready?" He asked, glancing at his phone.

"Are you asking me or the Blackberry?" Emma joked.

"You." Sherlock pulled on his coat and scarf, not understanding the joke.

Emma smiled and shut down her computer. She put on her coat before grabbing her purse. "All ready."

"Are you going to try something new today?" Sherlock asked as they descended the steps.

"Not at all." Emmaline exclaimed with a smile.

Every time they went to eat at the restaurant, she ordered fish and chips. Sherlock tried to get her to try new things but she simply refused. Sometimes she would try bites of whatever he was eating, but she would not get a new meal.

"You are missing out on fine English cuisine." Sherlock lectured.

"You have told me this about a hundred times and I still won't order something else. When are you going to just give up?"

"Never." He replied.

Emma smiled and looped her arm through his. It was a cold November day and they huddled together as they walked, trying to keep warm. The restaurant and was only a few blocks away from Sherlock's flat. That was part of the reason why he liked it so much – convenience.

As he held open the door for her, the warm air from the restaurant rushed out to meet them. They stood in the entryway shivering in their coats and pressing hands against the other's face, trying to warm each other's cheeks. Sherlock took off his scarf and wrapped it around Emmaline. She laughed but did not take it off – it was warming her.

"The usual table?" The host, Devon, asked.

"Yes please." Emmaline got out through chattering teeth.

He led them to their usual table in the back and handed them their menus.

"Mary will be with you in a moment."

The whole staff knew Sherlock and Emmaline. It was a small family-owned restaurant and the two of them had been going there every other Friday for five months.

Emma handed Sherlock back his scarf, and draped her coat and purse over the back of her chair. Sherlock did the same before coming around to pull out Emma's chair.

"You know, you don't have to do that."

"Yes I do. My mother told me to." Sherlock insisted, pushing the chair in.

Sherlock had told Emmaline that his mother had insisted that he and Mycroft be proper gentlemen, and know how to treat a lady. This meant that whenever she and Sherlock went out, he pulled his chair out for her and held open doors for her.

"Well don't you two look cute in your matching outfits!" Mary exclaimed, walking over to the table.

Sherlock and Emmaline both looked down and then at each other. Sherlock was wearing black pants and a purple button-down shirt. Emma was wearing dark jeans and a gray button-down, with a purple sweater over it. She supposed they did look similar, though they had not planned it.

"You two getting water again?" Mary asked, already writing it down.

"Yes." Sherlock said, perusing the menu.

"And you are getting fish and chips again." Mary said to Emmaline.

Emma smiled and closed her menu. Mary turned to Sherlock, waiting. He always got something different.

"Shepherd's pie." He ordered, handing his menu over.

"I'll have that right out for you." Mary took their menus with a smile and walked off.

"Was that the shirt you were looking for?" Emma asked.

"No, I was looking for the blue one. I found this one hanging in the back of the closet. I am not sure how much I like it."

"I think it is great."

"Really?" Sherlock asked disdainfully, looking at the purple shirt.

"It's quite fetching." Emma enthused honestly.

"Read that in a book somewhere?"

"I'll have you know that I do know words Sherlock Holmes! I might not be able to tell you what you had for breakfast because of how you are wearing your hair, but I am smart."

"I never said anything to the contrary." Sherlock said gently, his eyes downcast.

"Oh Sherlock I'm sorry." Emma leaned across the table and cupped his cheek. "I just meant to say that I'm not smart in the same way as you. I didn't mean to knock what you do, because it's incredible."

"I know."

Emmaline sat back and crossed her arms on the table. "Then why do you look sad?"

"Because Lestrade says he does not have anything for me to do. I am so _bored." _

"How about on Sunday we go buy new puzzles, and I can paint over them."

"Why?" Sherlock asked baffled.

"So you have to put them together by the edges, not the picture. It makes it harder." She spread her napkin over her lap.

"That is a good idea!" Sherlock did the same.

Mary came out of the kitchen with their food and drinks. "Here you go guys, enjoy."

Conversation between the two ceased as they ate. Occasionally forks would wander to the others plate as bites were stolen. When all that was left were Emma's fries, she moved the plate between them so they could both eat them.

"Did you still want to see Charlie's Angels next weekend?" Emmaline asked, dipping a fry in ketchup.

"No. You wanted to see that." He said.

"Because you never make movie suggestions." She reminded him.

"I know. But you could pick better movies."

"You said you liked _Titan A.E._" She pointed out.

"Meh." Sherlock replied.

Emma rolled her eyes as the check arrived. "My turn." She said.

She put her card in and Mary took it away. She and Sherlock both stood and got bundled up. Mary came back with her card, and Emma signed the receipt and filled out the tip line.

"Ready to brave the cold?" Emma asked.

"No." Sherlock replied grouchily.

He held the door open for Emmaline and they charged into the night, huddling together and walking at a brisk pace. Not a word was said as they hurried back to his flat, but Sherlock did have something on his mind. Sherlock had wanted to ask about Emmaline's _aversion_, and had been meaning to question her about it. He intended to do so when they got back home.

They rushed into his apartment building and walked up the five flights of steps, thankful to be in a warmer building. They headed into his flat and Sherlock stepped over to the fireplace, working on starting a fire. Emma crouched down in front of the tiny flames, trying to get warm.

"Emmaline, there's something I wanted to ask you."

"What is it?" She rubbed her hands together in front of the flickering flames.

"Why won't you tell me? What happened?"

"Sherlock, please don't ask me." Emmaline leaned back from the fire.

"I want to know."

"I don't want to talk about it." She insisted, standing.

"Why not? Isn't that what friends do, tell each other things?"

"Not this Sherlock!" She yelled. "Not this." She fought to lower her voice.

"Emmaline, I want you to tell me." Sherlock pleaded. It was killing him not knowing, especially since he guessed it was important. Something had happened to her and he needed to know what.

"I said no Sherlock!" Emma turned and strode for the door.

Sherlock made no move to stop her. He could tell he had crossed a line by pestering her about it. Her frame rounded the corner to face him.

"And I don't go asking you about your past and things that hurt you! I'm respectful! Sometimes you are so _stupid!" _

Sherlock heard the slamming door and pounding footsteps that meant she had left. Sherlock slammed his fists against the wall. How could he have been so stupid as to go on like that? What if she did not want to be his friend anymore?

"So stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid!" He yelled, gripping at his hair. Hot tears found their way to his eyes.

_No! _He thought, enraged. _I don't have to feel this. _Sherlock threw open the door to his bedroom and ripped the sock drawer from his dresser, flinging it across the room. Taped to the underneath of the top drawer was his bottle.

He grabbed the needle and filled it with shaking hands, not being careful. Recklessly and impatiently, he jammed it into his arm, depressing the plunger. A strong feeling of numbness washed over him. Sherlock knew something was wrong. He stumbled and fell against the dresser.

Sherlock turned and fell through the doorway. He tried clawing his way across the floor to his phone. If only he could call someone…he could almost reach it.

"Mycroft!" He croaked. "Mycroft!" He yelled for his elder brother before grabbing his stomach in pain and curling up on the floor.

"Mycroft…" he got out one last time before blackness tinged his vision and quickly took over, sucking him down into oblivion.

**A/N: We are getting into serious stuff here…**


	15. Chapter 15: By Your Side

Chapter 15: By Your Side

Emmaline turned her head at the ringing of her phone. She had just finished putting her pajamas on and was about to go to bed. She expected it to be Sherlock calling to apologize for pressuring her about her past.

"Hello?" She answered the phone without checking her caller I.D.

"Is this Emmaline Johnson?" An airy English voice was on the other line.

"Who is this?" Emma demanded.

"My name is Mycroft Holmes. I assume Sherlock has mentioned me."

"What's wrong?" Emma's spine tingled with chills as she waited for a reply.

Sherlock had told her that he was not on speaking terms with his brother. If Mycroft was calling her, something bad had to have happened.

"Sherlock has been taken to Newham University Hospital on Glen Road, after falling unconscious of a drug overdose. I thought you might like to know so that you could visit."

"I'm on my way." Emma said before hanging up.

She threw on her coat and grabbed her purse, slipping on shoes, before running out the door without a goodbye to her grandparents. Emma threw up her arms in a frantic wave, needing a cab. One stopped for the man next to her and she pushed him out of the way, getting into the taxi.

"Newham Hospital!" She shouted at the driver.

The cabbie sensed the urgency in her voice and sped off. They made the half-hour drive in fifteen minutes thanks to his speed, and Emmaline paid him twice what she owed.

Emma sped to the front desk and inquired as to where Sherlock Holmes was being kept. The nurse told her the room and Emma raced for the elevators.

The slow ride up to floor five was the longest moment of Emma's life. _Please be all right. Oh god, don't let the last thing I called him be 'stupid'. He is so much more brilliant, and deserves so much more than that! Please be all right Sherlock. _

She exited the elevator and followed the directional signs down the hall to room 523. She mentally prepared herself to see Sherlock in a hospital bed and took a deep, shaky breath. She opened the door and stepped into the darkened room.

On first sight of the bed and its occupant, Emmaline's heart broke as it had when police had told her that her mother was dead. Sherlock lay quietly in the bed, his hair in disarray, and his chest was shallowly rising and falling. He was paler than she had ever seen him and she could just make out the beginnings of bruises forming under his eyes.

Next to the bed was an IV drip; the tube ended in a needle in Sherlock's arm. His heart monitor filled the room with its steady beeping.

Sitting in the chair next to him, was a tall, pale, slightly pudgy redheaded man. He appeared to be in his early thirties and Emmaline assumed this was Sherlock's brother, Mycroft. He stood upon Emma's entrance and held his hand out in greeting.

Emma took a glance at the proffered hand but made no move to shake it.

"Yes, well." Mycroft retracted his hand. "My brother is in a very bad shape."

"You said it was a drug overdose – did someone give him something?"

"Sherlock dosed himself. I am afraid he has been a constant user of morphine and after your argument tonight, did not pay attention to how much he was injecting."

Emma nodded her head but then whipped her head to look at him. "How did you know we had a fight?"

Mycroft smiled cheerily. "That's not important. You should know that my little brother _is _an addict, and that this is not his first foray into drugs. When he attended Cambridge he thought it fun to dabble in cocaine until he was arrested by Lestrade."

Emmaline paled; this was much serious than she had thought.

"I see you understand the gravity of the situation. So, my little brother will be entering an addiction rehab clinic as soon as he is discharged from the hospital."

"Whatever is best for him." Emmaline agreed.

Mycroft took a step closer to her and ignored Emmaline's flinching back from him.

"I do not know who you are, but my brother was better with you. He took the drug less. So please, help him. Help him get better."

"I am going to help him, because _I _want to. He's my friend." Emmaline stood up to her full height and stepped around Mycroft to sit in the chair he had just vacated, by Sherlock's bedside.

"Nonetheless, I thank you. Moreover, if you would Miss Johnson, keep this meeting a secret between us. I am afraid my brother would not react well if he knew I had actually visited him."

Mycroft inclined his head before stepping out of the room. Emma scooted the chair as close to the bed as it would go before curling her knees against her chest.

"Oh Sherlock." She whispered sadly.

She reached out a hand to trace her fingertips down his cheek. He stirred slightly but did not wake up.

"My poor Sherlock." She whispered.

Emma leaned forward over the bed and kissed his forehead. Her poor Sherlock…how could she have known him for six months, but he had been able to keep something this big from her? She shook her head, not wanting to think about it.

She grabbed his hand and hunkered down in her chair. She would have to remember to call work in the morning and tell them she could not make it on. How could she leave Sherlock's side? She had to be here with him. As she thought this, her eyelids drooped and she quickly fell asleep in the chair, her hand still clutching Sherlock's.

Mycroft saw and told the night nurse to allow Emmaline to stay in the hospital. At the sight of his credentials, the nurse hastily agreed. Mycroft smiled before leaving the hospital and going home. He had to arrange for his brother's arrival at the rehab facility.

ᶓ

Sherlock fought through the black fog and drifted up into hazy consciousness. The first thing he was aware of was that his head _hurt _and it hurt to think. The second thing was that someone was touching his hand. He blinked open his eyes and cast them down to the bed.

He followed the hand that held his, up the arm, and saw Emmaline next to his bed, sleeping in a chair. The feeling of shame immediately washed over Sherlock and he yanked his hand back. He was embarrassed that she knew his secret, and bothered that she had clearly spent the night sleeping in that chair.

Emmaline stirred and opened her eyes slowly, stretching her arms above her head.

"Are you awake?" She asked sleepily, stifling a yawn.

"Go away." He growled.

"That's a yes." Emma moved her legs out from under her, wincing at their soreness.

"I said, go away!" He yelled.

"No." She replied simply. "We're friends again, and what I said last night, I didn't mean it."

Sherlock blushed and turned his head away from her. Emmaline sighed.

"Look, sulk all you want, but I'm not leaving your side. Ever. So get used to it." She leaned in and kissed his cheek.

Emmaline walked over to where his coat was draped across the back of a small sofa and took his keys.

"Now I have to go shower, and change, and eat. I will stop by your flat and get my laptop to take home, and I will bring you one of your favorite books. I'll even read it to you."

Emmaline put his keys in her pocket and picked up her purse, walking towards the door.

"Thank you." Sherlock said gruffly.

Emmaline smiled as she paused in the doorway. She did not acknowledge his thanks. Because she knew, it meant that he was sorry too. Instead, she walked out the door with a wave and left the hospital. In the cab, she called her job and told them she would not be making it in that day.

She leaned her head back against the cab seat as they drove. Sherlock was a drug addict, but he was a survivor. He would get through this. And she'd help him, in any way that she could. Because that was what friends did for one another. Emmaline smiled. She and Sherlock were best friends, and she would not abandon him.

The thought crossed her mind that maybe if he knew the truth about her, he would not abandon her either.

_Monsters are real, ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes they win. ~~ Stephen King _


	16. Chapter 16: Cleaning Up

Chapter 16: Cleaning Up

Sherlock spent Saturday and Sunday in the hospital before being discharged early Monday morning. His brother had picked him up and immediately dropped him off again at a drug rehab Centre – his home for at least six weeks.

Mycroft had been kind enough to tell the nurses and orderlies that Emmaline was to have free reign over visiting hours, but could not stay late into the night or sleep over. Sherlock appreciated this kind gesture. He did not think he could do this on his own.

Sherlock sighed and rolled over in bed. He had been here for a week and his roommate was insufferable. Toby was a recovering meth addict and had been in rehab twice before. His current stay was bearing close to the eight-week mark as he had yet to 'properly recover'. His family insisted that the Centre keep him until he was fully healed of his addiction, and they paid handsomely to keep him there.

It was not that Sherlock thought Toby's addiction unbearable, his roommate often stole pills and took them, but his screaming out in the night. Toby often suffered from nightmares and cried out in his sleep, followed by flailing around in bed, and then proceeding to fall out of said bed before waking up.

Other than this annoying little fact, Sherlock did not mind Toby at all. In fact, he enjoyed that Toby did not mind Sherlock's quite attitude, or their cluttered living space. Sherlock had proceeded to disorganize their room beyond recognition upon his arrival. Emmaline had been kind enough to bring him a few of his favorite books to read, and once she had read to him from one she liked, _No Country for Old Men. _Sherlock had thought it satisfactory.

During the week, she would come and visit from five in the afternoon and stay until ten when the nurses kicked her out. They spent time in the common room talking and playing games, or Emmaline often did homework while Sherlock read. Having her around was as if he was slipping into a more comfortable version of his old routine.

She spent all her time on the weekend at the Centre, bringing him new books and magazines to read. She did her homework Friday night with him so her whole weekend would be free for them to enjoy in the common room.

The weekends, Sherlock had learned, were his free time. He was allowed to spend time in his room, the common room, the library, or to walk the grounds. An orderly was always within sight of every patient so he was never truly alone. In his room were cameras so they could keep an eye on the recovering addicts, and Mycroft had made him promise he would not go looking for them.

Last Saturday had been his first weekend in the Centre and he had been prepared to sulk in his room all day. Upon entering the cafeteria for breakfast however, he had seen Emmaline sitting at a table alone and eating doughnuts and orange juice. A smile of relief so big he thought it would crack his face, happened upon Sherlock's face. He was glad to see his friend.

She had brought him a novel and had updated him as to the happenings with his new experiment on brain tumors.

"_Honestly, how did you get a brain in your freezer?" She had asked sincerely. _

"_I know someone at St. Bart's. A very nice young woman who works as a pathologist. I met her there in the Chemistry labs when I was trying to do research for Lestrade last year." _

"_A female friend?" Emmaline wiggled her eyebrows. _

"_Well, I don't think we are friends, we are not very close." _

"_You're not just using her to get body parts are you?" Emmaline inquired seriously._

_Sherlock had no reply and looked sheepishly down at his breakfast. Emmaline had laughed shortly, before putting on a serious face. _

"_You need to be nice to her Sherlock. Not everyone gets bodies from the morgue just because they know a pathologist. I bet she likes you." Emma had smiled at Sherlock's confused expression before pushing his bowl towards him. "Eat."_

They had spent all of Saturday together, and Sunday as well. Never once had she asked about his drug use or what it had entailed. Nor had she passed judgment on him for it. She was waiting for him to bring it up. Sherlock was happy to have a friend that let him speak about things when he wanted to.

Now that it was Monday, he would have to wait to see Emmaline until after she got out of school. Besides, during the week, his daytime was not his own. He had to join group therapy sessions every Tuesday and Thursday; private therapy sessions he attended every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. He had to talk about his past and feelings with surprising regularity in 'group', and so far had refused to do so.

If anyone were expecting him to talk, then they would be sorely disappointed. Sherlock did not talk about his sordid past any more than Mycroft did.

Sherlock got out of bed and dressed in the white linen pants and shirt that every resident were given. The white slippers went on next and then his I.D. bracelet with name, room number, and previous addictions. Mycroft had sent him to the best place he could think of. Only the best to cure his little brother.

He was not surprised to see he had no visitors waiting. Mycroft had come to see him once, on the second day of Sherlock's 'imprisonment' in the Centre. All he had come to say was how proud mummy was of him for finally doing something about his 'little problem'. Since then he had not seen his elder brother.

Emmaline was busy in school and so would not greet him in the mornings. Sometimes Sherlock missed this. After they had gotten to being friends, she would come over early on weekends to bring him breakfast; without her reminder, he would forget to eat it. Gradually that had become her coming over _every _morning before school and leaving breakfast outside his door. Sherlock smiled at the fond memory.

Not even Detective Inspector Lestrade was there. He had only visited once as well, the day after Mycroft. Lestrade had warned him that this was Sherlock's 'last chance' to get clean. If he could not get his act together this time, Sherlock would no longer be allowed to consult.

Sherlock sighed as he spooned out his oatmeal and grabbed a carton of milk. Today would be as lonely as last Monday had been. He even had the same awful therapy session with Dr. Catherine Oppel to look forward to. He was surprised she still wanted to be his therapist after he had told her his husband was, in all probability, cheating on her.

However, Dr. Oppel had continued seeing him every day without fail. Sherlock sat down alone at his table and ate his breakfast, looking forward to the day's end and Emmaline's visit.

ᶓ

Emmaline was walking down the hall to the common room when she bumped into Mycroft, who was leaving.

"Hello." He said contemptuously. He stared down at her outfit in disdain.

Emmaline noticed but chose not to comment. She realized how kind he was being with allowing her to visit Sherlock so she bit her tongue.

"How is he today?" Emmaline inquired.

"Rather morose I am afraid; he refuses to talk to his therapist."

"He never has a problem talking to me." Emmaline stated simply.

She stepped around him.

"Emmaline, please do try to convince him to talk to his therapist."

Emmaline stopped and threw him a glance over her shoulder. "I will on one condition."

Mycroft sighed, assuming she wanted something. "What is it?"

"I think Sherlock should have a violin. He said he plays and I think it would help him."

Mycroft's brow rose in surprise. She was actually asking for something for his brother. "Well, Christmas is coming up rather soon." He promised.

Emma smiled before walking into the common room.

"Sherlock!" She walked over to the corner where he sat, sulking. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing now." He smiled brightly. "Honestly, I thought you would never show up. My therapist is unbearable." He sighed.

Emma pulled over a small coffee table and grabbed the Cluedo board from the shelf.

"How so?" Emma asked as she set up the game.

Sherlock sat down across from her at the table, on his knees. "She keeps trying to get me to speak about my past."

"Well, why don't you? These people are trying to help you."

"I don't need their help. I was perfectly fine without them." Sherlock pointed out.

"Sherlock…you really weren't." Emma's piercing look made Sherlock want to look away.

"You don't know."

"It's been nine days since you had anything and already you look less sick. The difference is…scary. Sometimes I question why I didn't _know_ because you look different now."

"Do I really?" Sherlock met her gaze.

"There's more color in your cheeks." Emma smirked.

Sherlock looked down at the board, blushing. When he picked his eyes back up, he spied his therapist across the room. Dr. Oppel noticed Sherlock was not alone, and started walking over to him and his companion. She thought it odd that Sherlock would have a visitor given what she had seen of the man.

"Hello Sherlock." She stated, stopping in front of him.

"Dr. Oppel." He replied coldly.

"Are you Sherlock's therapist?" Emmaline asked her.

"Yes, I am. And you are?" She asked, intensely curious.

"Emmaline Johnson. I am Sherlock's friend." The girl smiled widely and shook Dr. Oppel's hand.

"May I speak with you for a moment?" Dr. Oppel asked, pointing to a space away from Sherlock.

"OK." Emma eyed her curiously but stood up and followed the doctor.

"Sherlock has refused to discuss anything in therapy. Do you know anything?"

"Only a little, but I think Sherlock would rather I didn't tell you. He should be the one to do that."

Dr. Oppel sighed. "You're right. You two seem close – how long have you known each other?"

"Six months." She replied after a moment of thought.

"Would you mind if I tried to get Sherlock to talk about you in therapy?" Catherine asked.

"No, not at all! If you think it will help him, absolutely."

Emmaline was not sure what talking about her would do for Sherlock, but if his therapist thought it would help him then she would give her permission freely.

"Emmaline! I've already figured out, do you want to hear it?" Sherlock called.

"Sorry, the child beckons." Emma smiled and skipped back over to her game with Sherlock.

Catherine Oppel stuck around to watch them play before heading to her office to write out notes.

ᶓ

"So Sherlock, let's try this again. Is there anything in your past you would like to discuss today?" Dr. Oppel asked.

Sherlock sat in her plush office, across from her at her desk, and leaned down in his chair. They had had this conversation countless times and it was always the same.

"No." He replied forcefully.

"Alright then; what about Emmaline?"

Sherlock looked up from the floor. "What about her?" He asked.

"How did you two meet?"

The question seemed innocent enough to Sherlock.

"On a plane, from New York to London."

"Did you travel to London together?"

Sherlock smiled. "No. She was just this annoying little girl who had just lost her mother." Sherlock grinned fondly at the memory of their first meeting. He had never expected her to become so important to him.

"And what is she now?" Dr. Oppel asked.

"She is my best friend." Sherlock replied. "And I never thought I would have one of those."

ᶓ

"It just, it bothers me because I know it is big. Whatever it is she will not tell me, it is huge. I know it is." Sherlock paced the length of Dr. Oppel's office.

"Why do you think her aversion to men is anything big?" Dr. Oppel asked curiously.

"Because she flinches, literally _flinches _from every man she comes into close contact with except for me. Except for those she has known for a long time. Those men, which she deems safe I suppose." Sherlock thought aloud.

"And why is her secret such a big deal to you?"

"Because it is a secret – and I _want _to know." He explained exasperatedly, flinging himself down in his chair.

"You have kept secrets from her – what about your drug use?"

Sherlock stared stoically down at the floor. His drug use had been a huge secret. And he had others still, like his father's suicide. He would have to tell her soon – he _wanted _to tell her. He _wanted _her to know.

"Obviously she trusts you. You have told me of multiple instances where she initiated close contact, or did not shy away from close contact with you. I have observed you myself and she appears to trust you. If you are her friend as you have said, then you will let her tell you. You will _wait _for her to approach you with it."

Sherlock hunkered down in the chair, listening. He had to wait for her to tell him. Perhaps by sharing his own past she would learn it was all right to divulge hers. Sherlock would find the right time then, to tell her. He would share his worst moment with her.

"Thank you." He said standing from the chair, and leaving the office.

Dr. Oppel stared at the closed door a few moments before writing some notes in her ledger.

ᶓ

"Emmaline, thank you for meeting with me." Dr. Oppel gestured to the armchair across from her desk.

"What is this about?" Emma asked nervously.

She felt like she had been called into the Principal's office for doing something wrong.

"I just was wondering, in the interest of patient health, if you were ever planning on telling Sherlock whatever secret you have bottled up?"

Emmaline stared at the therapist, shocked. Not only had she just told her that Sherlock had discussed this with her, but she was asking her about it.

"What do you mean 'in the interest of patient health'?" Emmaline asked guardedly.

"I'm afraid this issue has Sherlock quite on edge."

Emmaline sighed. She had planned on telling him soon. Perhaps it would be easier while he was locked up at the Centre; an easier separation for the two of them. Because he would not want to be her friend anymore, once he found out. Was she prepared to lose him as a friend? If it meant he would get better, she would have done anything.

"I'll tell him soon." She promised.

"Are you sure?" Dr. Oppel asked.

"He deserves to know. He deserves to know what I come from." She answered simply, shrugging.

Emmaline stood from the chair and left the office, leaving Dr. Oppel wondering if she had done the right thing in calling the young girl in at all.

_It is always our own self that we find at the end of the journey. The sooner we face that self, the better. ~~ Ella Maillart _


	17. Chapter 17 The Completely Sordid History

**A/N: This chapter is short, but it is their telling the other what happened to them. So just a WARNING there. **

Chapter 17: The Completely Sordid History

Sherlock breathed in deeply, wondering how to start. He wanted to tell Emmaline his story but he was not sure how to begin. She was thinking the same thing.

The two were lounging in his bed after Sherlock's dinner. His roommate Toby was out in the common room, leaving them alone. Sherlock lay on his bed, one arm bent under his head, looking up at the ceiling. Emmaline was lying next to him, curled on her side, facing him.

Sherlock's mouth was dry as his tongue flicked out to wet his lips. If he was going to tell her, it had to be now. Or else he would lose all his courage.

"My father died when I was ten." He blurted out.

Emmaline propped herself on her elbow, not sure she had heard him correctly. Sherlock turned his head to meet her eyes, his aquamarine globes brimming with sadness.

"What?" She asked, disbelieving.

"My father died when I was ten." He repeated carefully, the words heavy on his tongue.

Emmaline sank back into the bed and wrapped her arms around Sherlock, trying to offer him some comfort. The arm under his head moved to wrap itself around her, holding her closer.

"Mycroft was still living at home and we were playing chess in the living room that night." He launched into his story. If he did not get it out now, he never would.

"My mum and dad fought a lot. Daddy was a drunk and every night he would get into it with her. Sometimes he was all right, sometimes he would…he would hit her. But she always tried to hide it from Mycroft and me."

"That night they were fighting worse than usual and they came storming into the living room, arguing." Sherlock closed his eyes at the invading memory. "Mycroft picked me up and placed me behind him so I would not have to see it. Mummy was throwing things and calling names and daddy just stood there, taking it all."

Sherlock heaved in a deep breath. "And then he said he was done. He screamed at us that he was done with us and done with everything."

Emma wrapped her arms tighter around Sherlock's middle, trying to give him some strength to draw from.

"He pulled a gun; a little revolver that he had. Mummy barely had time to fling herself in front of Mycroft before he had shoved it in his mouth and pulled the trigger."

Sherlock shut his eyes against the tears that threatened. "I can still remember it, every detail. No matter how hard I try to delete it I can't." He whispered. "Whenever I close my eyes I can see it."

Sherlock took a shuddery breath and willed his watery eyes to stop; he would not cry for his father. "Mum called the police and we were taken to the station. She got everything but we sold the house; none of us could live there anymore. Not after that."

"I did not go to the funeral, and I have never visited his grave. I do not think I ever can. I still have not forgiven him."

Sherlock laughed shakily and covered his eyes with his hand. "He abandoned us. He abandoned my mother, and me, and Mycroft."

Sherlock's hand flopped onto the bed. "And I hate him for it." He finished quietly.

Emma tightened her grip on him and laid her head on his chest. "I'm so sorry." She whispered.

"It's not your fault." He stated.

"I'm still sorry.

Emma breathed out through her nose. Looking up at Sherlock through her lashes, she could clearly see the pain etched on his face. He had told her this, because he needed her to know. And she still loved him. Now it was her turn. All she could do was hope he would still be her friend afterwards.

"Down in Texas, my mom tried to find boyfriends. No one really wanted to go out with someone who had a kid." She began.

Sherlock listened carefully. He understood that this was her trust, and he would not betray it. No interruptions, he would listen to what she had said. Anticipation crawled up his spine as she spoke. Finally, he would know.

"When I was twelve, she met this guy named Gary. Gary Poole." Emma closed her eyes as she said the name. "I thought he was great – my mom did too. He used to take us both out – to the movies, to art shows. She really liked him."

"She asked him to babysit when she had a job interview. While she was gone he –" A sob forced its way from her throat. She gripped Sherlock's shirt in her hand and whispered the next sentence. "He molested me."

Sherlock's blood ran cold. He knew what that was. He had read plenty of court cases and documents that described the act rather in too much detail.

"He said I could not tell my mom because she would get mad and he would get in trouble. And my mom liked him so much, how could I tell her?"

"He would leave at night after seeing my mom and park his car a few blocks over. Then he would sneak in my bedroom window and hide under my bed until my mom went to sleep." Emma's throat tightened as the tears fell from her eyes.

"It went on for seven months until my mom walked in to my room one night and saw it. She kicked him out and called the police. I told them everything, told my mom, but when it came time to charge him I refused to testify. I was _so _scared of him. I didn't want to sit up there and tell a room full of strangers what he had done to me, right in front of him."

"So he got away with it. He moved away and I never saw him again. And that was the end of it. But I never got over it – I still check under my bed for him."

Emmaline cried as she admitted the truth. Her awful truth. Sherlock wrapped his arms around her and let her cry. He smoothed down her hair and kissed her forehead. The shuddering sobs racked her body. But one fact got through – _Sherlock wasn't leaving. _

"Do you still want to be my friend?" She asked, lifting her head from his chest.

"Yes." He answered honestly.

Emma hugged him tightly. "I'm sorry about your dad."

"I'm sorry for you." He replied softly.

Sherlock made a vow to himself at that moment that if he ever encountered Gary Poole, he would kill him. No one caused his Emmaline this much pain and got away with it.

"Sherlock, can I ask you something?"

"Of course." Sherlock pulled back so he could see Emmaline's face.

"Why did you do the drugs?"

"To escape from my past. To forget. And it worked." Sherlock answered honestly.

That was why he hated Mycroft so much – his older brother had watched Sherlock ruining his life but had not stepped in. He had simply allowed him to do it. Not until the first time he had almost overdosed on cocaine – then he had called the police. Even now, he did not visit his brother often. Sherlock had seen him twice.

"I could never do that." Emma whispered. "I'd be too afraid."

"No, you are much stronger than I am." Sherlock whispered in her ear.

Emma smiled softly. "Thanks; but I think you're pretty strong too."

Sherlock heard footsteps in the hall. A nurse poked her head into the room. "Miss Johnson, you will have to leave now."

"OK." Emma extricated herself from Sherlock's hold and sat up.

"Thank you for being such a good friend Sherlock. I don't know what I'd do without you." She leaned in to kiss his cheek before standing, and gathering her things.

"I've never told anyone that before." He told her.

"Neither have I." She replied.

They both looked at each other sadly before the nurse cleared her throat.

"You're my best friend Sherlock." Emma said when she got to the door.

"You're my best friend too, Emmaline."

Emma left for the night, leaving Sherlock alone with the dark histories they had both just shared. But for the first night in years, both of them slept easily.

**A/N: Please review!**


	18. Chapter 18: Christmas

Chapter 18: Christmas

The bow slid expertly across the strings, creating a melodious sound. The people in the common room smiled as they listened to the stranger playing. Sherlock stood gazing out the window at the snow-covered ground, playing his new violin. He moved the bow back and forth, long and slow, creating a fine tune. He smiled as it filled the room and surrounded him.

It had been a Christmas present from Mycroft. One that Sherlock had been surprised, but glad, to receive. It was one o'clock in the afternoon and he was patiently awaiting Emmaline's arrival so he could give her the present he had picked out. He had bought it before Halloween, on his trip to Florida. Mycroft had dropped it off, wrapped for him, since it had been left in Sherlock's flat.

He allowed the music to swell, carrying him away, so he did not notice when Emmaline entered. She walked into the common room, shivering from the cold December air. She paused however, when she heard the violin music. A wide smile stretched across her face. So Mycroft had gotten him the violin after all.

She stopped in the doorway, listening to the beautiful music he was creating. Sherlock had downplayed his talent; and this was much better than his tapping rhythm's. She watched the bow slide across the strings and create the sound she was hearing. His long fingers pressed upon the neck of the instrument, holding it against the curve of his throat and shoulder. Emma smiled and leaned her head against the doorjamb. She could stand here all day, listening to him play.

He happened to turn and see her standing there. A smile lit his face and he lowered the violin, his music ceasing.

"Emmaline." He greeted as she walked over to him.

"Why did you stop?" She asked. "It was lovely."

Sherlock smiled down at her, not answering. He was just happy to see her here, finally.

"Will you play for me Sherlock?" Emmaline asked sweetly.

Sherlock smiled softly. "Later, I promise. It's Christmas. So, Happy Christmas." He leaned over and picked up a flat present, and handed it to her.

"Oh Sherlock, you shouldn't have!" Emma took the gift and sat down.

"I had Mycroft get it from the flat before he showed up this morning." He spoke while Emmaline tore the paper from the present. "I got it in Florida; it seemed something you would like." Sherlock stated nervously, waiting for her reaction.

"Oh Sherlock, thank you." Emmaline ran her fingers down the glossy cover of the record. "_The White Stripes._ Sounds good."

She stood up, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed his cheek. Surprised, Sherlock stood tense for a moment before reciprocating the warmth and wrapping his arms around her.

"Thank you." She said, kissing his cheek again.

"So you do like it?"

"I love it; I will have to listen to it when I get home."

Emma sat down and put the vinyl record on the table next to her. She dug around in her bag until she found what she was looking for – Sherlock's present.

"For you." She said, handing it over.

Sherlock took it without a word and sat, putting his violin down against the chair. He looked over the paper and decided that it was a book, but he did not know which one. Emma sat there nervously, hoping that he would like it.

He opened the top corner and peeled the paper off the book, finally revealing the title to his eyes.

"_The Odyssey_."He read aloud.

"Have you read it already?" Emma asked.

"No." Sherlock flipped open the book to the first page. He skimmed it briefly before setting it aside.

"Thank you." He told her.

Sherlock leaned over and put a hand on her shoulder, and kissed her cheek. "I'll read it tonight."

Emma blushed but Sherlock did not see; he stooped down to pick up his violin. "I think the lady requested a tune." He burst jovially, standing.

Emmaline smiled and sat back in her chair, excited and waiting. Sherlock brought the bow to the violin strings and began to play for her, "Ode to Joy."

She sat listening intently, finding herself being carried away by the music and the man playing it so expertly. _I am glad I met you, _she thought. _So glad you are my best friend. _

After a few minutes of beautiful playing Sherlock stopped. He had been looking out the window the whole time, and had realized, that he wanted to go outside. He had barely been on the grounds while here and he wanted to take a walk, damn the cold.

"Emmaline, do you want to take a walk?" He turned around to where she was sitting.

"Sure." She smiled brightly before standing. "We'll have to take the presents back to your room, and get you in something warmer."

"Alright." Sherlock gathered up his book and violin and started for his room.

Emmaline followed quietly behind. She was still thinking about how beautifully Sherlock had played; he could have been a musician. Instead, he chose to live in a slum of an apartment and consult with the police once a week, which was about as often as they needed him.

Emma found Sherlock putting up his book and instrument, and rooting around in his closet for something warm.

"They don't give you a lot of clothes do they?"

"We have a regulation jumper somewhere in here." Sherlock stated. "Unless Toby took mine to smuggle more pills." He trailed off, reaching a hand deeper into the small closet.

"You mean you don't know?" Emmaline asked curiously.

"Well, he's been clean for two weeks now so who knows." Sherlock cried triumphantly, hand emerging from the closet with a royal blue jumper.

He quickly put it on over his white shirt and rooted around for jeans and boots. Emma turned around and put her record down while he dressed.

"Do they give you a coat too?" She asked.

"I have to check one out at the desk." He answered.

Emma turned around once he was finished getting ready. They walked to the front desk so Sherlock could get a coat, and then made their way around to the common room door that led to the outside.

"I can't wait to breathe fresh air again." Sherlock zipped himself up and stepped outside.

Emma followed and closed the door. "Have you not been outside in a while?" She shoved her hands in her pockets, trying to keep the cold out.

"Not since I arrived here. I have not found a reason good enough to be out here."

"Why not?"

"There are always orderlies around, watching what you do. Even out here." Sherlock stated. "I hate being watched all the time." He thought of the cameras that Mycroft had in Sherlock's flat. The cameras had saved his life.

"If I am watched all the time, then how am I going to be able to enjoy myself at all, even outside?"

Emma stepped closer to Sherlock as they walked a winding gravel path, past a frozen pond. "How much longer until you get out of here?"

"Until Mycroft thinks I am better. Dr. Oppel says I will get out in February."

"That's two months away." Emma whined.

Sherlock grinned. "You think it bothers you, me being in here? My roommate is a meth addict."

"I just want you to get better." Emma insisted. "But I do miss you." Emma added, stepping next to Sherlock and taking his hand.

"You see me every day." Sherlock pointed out, confused.

"I know but it is not the same. I am glad you are getting better, but I miss hanging out with you. We can't do that here."

Sherlock squeezed her hand. "Do you think I am getting better?" He stopped walking on the path and looked down at her.

Emma stood there and stared at him. "Yes." She said after a minute's pause. "You look healthier at least. Your skin is not so sallow; the bruises under your eyes are gone. Your hair is shinier, darker." Emma brushed a stray curl from Sherlock's forehead. "You have gained weight; you just look healthier. But how do you feel?"

"The first week I was here I felt awful; detoxing apparently. It is not so bad now; I used the morphine to help me sleep though. Sometimes I just cannot get to bed and I feel like I need it." Sherlock admitted.

"And the cocaine?" Emmaline asked.

Sherlock sighed heavily and resumed walking. He brushed his thumb against the back of Emmaline's hand while he thought.

"I was at University; I had no friends, it was my first immersion into society." Sherlock looked down at the ground as he spoke. "I thought that if I did the drugs it would take my mind away from all the painful thoughts. That I would be able to think clearly, after I took it. But, it just made the pain worse."

"What thoughts?" Emma asked, concerned.

"I was a twenty year old guy who was just leaving home for the first time. The first time I was around any of my peers and they all rejected me and made fun of me. What do you think?" Sherlock looked at Emmaline for a fleeting moment; she caught the pain in his eyes.

"So you took the cocaine to escape, and the morphine to sleep."

"I have nightmares." Sherlock confessed. "I dream about the night my father died and it's just his death on repeat. I can never stop it. The only thing that helped was the morphine. Since I cannot have it anymore, I wake up every night in a cold sweat and I never get any sleep."

Emma stopped walking and her hand in Sherlock's hand caused him to jerk back. He turned to look at her and saw that her eyes were watering.

"What's wrong?"

Emma smiled sadly and closed her eyes, trying to block the tears. One fell and rolled down her cheek. She opened her eyes to stare at Sherlock.

"I still check under my bed, for monsters." She admitted.

Sherlock paused. He had admitted something, and so had she. He had given her a piece of himself, and she had given one back. Was this how friendship worked? Two equally damaged people gravitated towards one another, to try and glue each other back together?

Sherlock put an arm around Emmaline and kissed the side of her head. She laughed shortly as they continued walking.

"We're quite the pair." She observed.

"Yes, we are." He replied.

"Merry Christmas Sherlock." She said, nestling herself closer to him as they walked back to the Centre.

"Happy Christmas Emmaline."

They walked back inside and Sherlock checked the coat back in. He had to go back to his room to change into the regulation outfit, now that he was indoors. Emma sat down at a table with a chess board and started randomly moving pieces, waiting for him to come back.

"You're doing it wrong you know." He said as he sat down across from her.

"I don't know how to play." She stated.

"I will teach you."

Emmaline smiled as Sherlock took the pieces and set them on the board. 


	19. Chapter 19: Coming Home

Chapter 19: Coming Home

Emma danced around the kitchen, holding the spatula up to her mouth like a microphone. Sherlock was coming home today, so she had gone to his flat to clean up and make him a welcome home dinner. She had spent all of her Saturday trying to tidy up the chaos that was his home, without disturbing any of his case files.

Emmaline moved her fingers across the neck of an air guitar, pretending to play the raucous music coming from the record player. It was the middle of February, and Emma was glad to see her friend finally being released.

He had never once erred from the strict line the Centre had put him on, and in fact had done well there. However, Mycroft had wanted to be sure of his brother's recovery, and so had insisted on keeping him there longer. Emma still visited him every day and on the weekends, bringing him books and puzzles to relieve his boredom.

The one thing she had not been allowed to bring however was food. Emma thought that Sherlock could do with some fattening up – he had lost so much weight in rehab. What he needed were proper home cooked meals, which was what she was giving him tonight.

Sherlock had no idea that Emmaline was at his flat. When she had taken his keys that first night in the hospital, she had made a copy so she could get things from his flat for him. Sometimes she would spend time in the flat, trying to remind herself of him.

Mycroft had called to tell her that Sherlock would be dropped off within the hour for good. He had also warned that Sherlock might be different. Now that he was off the morphine, his behavior might be different, and he might still suffer some symptoms associated with withdrawal. He had told her, that if the need ever arose, she could call him.

Emmaline had kindly declined his offer. Whatever was the matter with Sherlock, she could handle it. She continued to flit around the clean kitchen, cooking for him, and expecting him to be home at any time.

"Sherlock, if you ever need help, you know you can call me." Mycroft intoned to his brother as they pulled up to the curb.

"Thank you." Sherlock spoke curtly, stepping out of the car.

He grabbed his bag and tossed it over his shoulder. The driver honked his horn, and Sherlock waved goodbye. With a sigh, he stepped up the apartment building and began the five-story walk up to his old home.

It felt slightly strange being here now, after what had happened. The three months he had spent in the Centre had made it seem like home. But it was not; it was this.

He could go for walks with Emmaline again, and go to the cinema. He could eat real food – order takeout. So many things that had been deprived to him were at his fingertips again. Except for the drugs. He could not go back to that. Not just for himself, this as counseling told him was who he was supposed to be doing things for, but for Emmaline.

Sherlock could tell that she had been surprised and hurt to find out about his drug abuse. It was a secret that he had desperately tried to keep from her. But she had not judged him – in fact, she felt like the only one who had truly been on his side.

Emmaline had been there for him when he had most needed her and had spent more time with him than Sherlock's own brother. For this, he was grateful. Sherlock was not sure how long he could have lasted at the Centre without a friend. And Emmaline was a fantastic friend. She had stood by his side unwaveringly while he recovered. But what would she do now that he was out? She had not been there to greet him today as he walked out a free man, and that hurt. It should not have, but it did.

Sherlock walked up to his door and got out his key. He was about to put it in the lock, but paused. He could hear music on in his flat – loud music. Sherlock stooped to examine the door; it was unlocked. His senses heightened, he pushed open the door quietly and stepped inside.

As he passed the hall closet, he reached inside for the cane he kept in there. If someone was trying to rob him, they would be sorry. Sherlock held the weapon firmly in his grasp and jumped around the corner. What he saw made him smile.

His grip on the cane loosened and he lowered it, a smile stretching across his face. Emmaline was in his kitchen, her back to him, dancing. Sherlock could smell food cooking and saw dishes stacked in the kitchen. Sherlock leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms, watching her.

_This must be what it is like to be happy, _he thought. The warm feeling spreading through his chest must be happiness.

Emma turned and jumped back in fright, clutching at her racing heart.

"Oh, it's just you." She smiled and took in a deep breath.

"Who else would it be?" Sherlock asked, stepping into the kitchen.

"I don't know." Emma replied, shrugging.

She turned back to the stove and continued cooking the chicken. She was delighted that he was back, in his home. It felt _right _again, the world. Everything felt whole and right with him where he should be.

"You made dinner." Sherlock observed.

"And dessert." Emmaline announced.

Sherlock cocked a brow. "Are you that glad to have me back?" He asked seriously.

"Yes." She answered sincerely.

Sherlock stood there, watching her for a change of expression, but her face stayed stoic. A soft smile touched his lips before he turned away.

"I'm going to put my things away." He held up the small bag and his violin case.

"Alright; supper's almost ready." She told him.

Sherlock inclined his head to show that he had heard. He walked out into the main room and glanced around. The surfaces had been dusted, the floor vacuumed, and his books put away, but the case files had not been disturbed. Sherlock smiled; Emmaline knew him well.

He walked into his bedroom and put his violin case down. She had cleaned up in here as well, making his bed and cleaning the dresser. Sherlock opened his drawer and saw that it had been rifled through, but carefully put back. Someone with a duller eye would not have noticed the intrusion. No doubt she had been checking for drugs as she cleaned.

Sherlock sighed sadly but put his things away. It was to be expected, of course, that no one would trust him for quite a while. He walked back out to the living room to find the table set with two places for dinner.

"What did you make for dessert?" Sherlock called.

"Cake, since you could not have any last month."

Sherlock smiled wryly. Last month had been his twenty-fifth birthday, and he had gotten to spend it in drug rehab. He was not allowed to celebrate, and Emmaline had not been allowed to bring him a slice of cake. She had also told him that he would have to wait until he was out to get his present, because she was sure they would not allow it.

"Here." Emmaline came out of the kitchen holding a present.

Sherlock took it from her and stared at the box. While he examined it carefully, Emmaline took the chance to wrap her arms around him and hug him. Surprised, Sherlock stood there a moment before wrapping his arms around her.

"I missed you." She whispered.

"Me too." Sherlock whispered back.

They stayed that way, in each other's arms, for quite a few minutes before Emmaline pulled back.

"Go on, open your present." She ordered.

Sherlock obliged and tore the paper from the tiny box. He opened it, and grinned. Inside was a jack-knife.

"You've been paying attention." He commented.

In early January, Sherlock had told her how he used to have a jack-knife to keep his mail on the mantle but it had been misplaced some months before and he had not had the chance to replace it.

Emmaline smiled proudly. "Of course I pay attention. Now sit down."

Sherlock did and they ate their chicken and green beans and chatted amicably. It felt good to be sitting in Sherlock's flat again, the two of them. Mostly they wanted to enjoy the moment. It had been three months since Sherlock had felt that he could really be himself without being judged for it and that was a wonderful feeling.

After dinner and dessert, Sherlock and Emmaline sat on the couch and he read some of the _Odyssey _to her. His arm was around her shoulders, holding the book, and she was curled up against him.

His deep, lilting voice soon had Emmaline's eyelids drooping. Eventually her eyes closed and she sank against his chest, asleep. Sherlock looked down and smiled softly. How typical of her to fall asleep, just when it reached the best part.

Sherlock set the book aside and stood from the couch, carefully so as not to disturb her. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her gently into the bedroom. He set her down in his bed and tucked her in under the blankets, making sure she was comfortable.

He turned to leave the room, to go sleep on the couch, but something had hold of him. Sherlock looked over his shoulder to see Emmaline's hand gripping the edge of his shirt. He could see that she was still asleep, and he did not want to wake her. He tugged gently but her grip did not loosen.

Sherlock sighed; it would be impossible to leave without waking her. Sherlock turned back towards the bed and crawled over Emmaline, and tucked himself under the blankets. He turned his back towards her and tried to fall asleep.

However, he felt rigid. How could he fall asleep with someone else so close? He had never even slept in bed with his mother or father as a child. Sherlock was fully prepared to spend the night awake.

Emma sighed and turned over, her hand moving up to rest under her head. As it did, her fingers brushed his back. Sherlock relaxed at the gentle touch and soon found his eyelids drooping with exhaustion. The rhythmic breathing of his companion soon caused Sherlock's own breathing to slow, his eyes to close, and his mind to enter the world of dreams.

**A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in a while – English homework **** I hope to start updating regularly again. **


	20. Chapter 20: Going Out

Chapter 20: Going Out

February passed quickly for the pair of odd friends and March soon sprang into bloom. In no way was it nice outside, but indoors people could find comfort in front of a fire or by turning up the heat on their thermostats.

Emmaline had been spending just as much time with Sherlock as ever, for which he was grateful. He had not told her but a few nights he had woken up covered in sweat and shivering. Sherlock knew that Emmaline had been combing his flat for drugs whenever he fell asleep, or when he was out. She had a key to his place so she came and went, as she pleased, which did not bother him.

He hated that she could not trust him yet but he also understood that she probably should not. Sherlock had been craving the morphine for a week, and he wanted it soon. He felt like his body was screaming at him to get it.

The friends had easily entered their normal routine of going out to eat, going for walks, and to the cinema. The only thing that had changed was that Emmaline was now more cautious around him. And so too was he, around her.

Neither of them knew what to do with the other's admission from before Christmas. Sherlock had been treating her like a fragile China doll, not getting closer to her. He wanted her to initiate all contact but he could see it grating on her nerves. However, he did not want to reach out for her hand and have her shrink away from him. He did not want to feel the stab of pain he knew it would cause him to have her inch away from his contact.

Sherlock knew that it should not have bothered him so much, but it did. She had never shied away from him before; in fact, she usually craved his touch to comfort her. Whenever she was upset about something, she came over to his flat. They sat on the couch together and talked, with Emmaline usually worming her way into Sherlock's arms. And it felt _natural. _Emmaline was Sherlock's best friend, and he did not want to jeopardize that. No matter how much he needed her to comfort him right now, she had to initiate everything.

And Sherlock did need her comfort. There was no one else for him who understood. She did not get exactly how he was felling, especially since he was keeping symptoms from her, but she knew how he felt about it. She had been there at the Centre with him. And all of it horrified Sherlock, and he was afraid of going back there.

More and more he had found himself wanting to use again; he just needed to get past the hurdle. If he could stay clean for three months, then six, then a year…he knew that eventually he would get over the need. But he needed Emmaline's help, and he did not know how to ask for it.

He was also wary to touch on the subject of her molestation. He knew that she probably did not want to talk about it, and he did not want to hear about it. However, he felt that maybe it would be good for her to get the whole story out and not just a snippet. Sherlock felt that it was good that she had been going out with boys, but men still made her uncomfortable. He wanted to help her get over that, to get past her fear of the male species. He just did not know how.

Sherlock did however know what he would do to Gary Poole, if he ever saw him. A few days after Sherlock had gotten out of rehab he had visited Lestrade at Scotland Yard. He had told the detective inspector to keep an eye out for the man, and to tell him if Poole came to close to London. Sometimes offenders looked for their first victims, and Emmaline had been his. Sherlock would let no harm come to his best friend. He loved her.

But even with their strong connection, he had no idea what to do about the history that hung between them. Her shadows, and his, had seemed to cast something over their friendship. Until the air could be cleared for both of them, he was not sure what else he could do.

Emmaline too, was not sure what to do about Sherlock. She was sure that he needed to visit his father's grave, and to forgive the man. However, she had no idea how to get him to do that. Nor did she know what to do about his drug use. She had been shocked to discover that he was a user. The man she thought she knew would not have needed to drugs to occupy his mind.

Apparently, she had been wrong. But that did not make her love him any less. Everyone had problems; Sherlock's were just a little more serious. Emma had not brought it up once with him, because she did not know how. She felt that to help him, she needed to understand why he had done the drugs. He had told her in December that he done them "to forget". Emmaline thought that there was more to it than that.

She knew that Sherlock had a problem with Mycroft. It was evident in the way he talked about him, and in the way that he acted around him, that Sherlock hated his brother. Emma was not sure why. Mycroft had gone to the trouble of paying for Sherlock's hospitalization, rehab treatment, and had found him the best place to be cared for. Mycroft had even paid the rent on Sherlock's flat while he was at the Centre so he would not have been kicked out.

All of these things seemed to her like genuine acts of love from one brother to another; but maybe to Sherlock they were apologies. But apologies for what? What had Mycroft done? Emma did not think she would get an answer soon, and it was not a question she was willing to ask.

It was a balmy March evening that found Sherlock and Emma going bowling, at her request. They stepped out of their cab and ran into the bowling rink before they got any colder.

"You get our shoes; I'll grab some hot chocolate." Emma requested.

"Alright." Sherlock stepped up to the counter while Emmaline walked across the bowling alley to the little café situated inside.

"I need a size eleven, and a nine."

"How many games?" The attendant asked, looking for the shoe sizes.

Sherlock thought about it for a moment. "Three."

The attendant handed him the shoes, and Sherlock paid for the games. He stepped over to lane '3' and found Emmaline walking towards him, carrying chicken wings, fries, and two sodas.

"No dessert?" Sherlock asked, taking a fry.

"They have pie – we can get some when we are done bowling." Emma replied with a smirk.

Sherlock sat down to put his bowling shoes on, while Emma typed in their names for the bowling screen. Sherlock grabbed a red, ten-pound ball and stepped forward to line up his shot. Emma tied up her shoes, and sat watching. He brought his arm back, swung it forward, and released. The bowling ball coasted down the lane to strike the middle pin, knocking them all down.

"What? What was that?" Emma asked incredulously.

"Is that not how the game is played?"

"You never said you were so good!" She accused with a short laugh.

"Mycroft used to take me, to get away from mum and dad when they were fighting." A shadow passed over his face at the mention of his family.

"Well, don't think that past experience is going to help!" Emma warned jokingly.

Sherlock looked up and smiled, taking his seat. Emma's bright yellow eight-pound ball flew forward down the lane and hit eight pins. Her ball came back up and she hit another one down.

"Not so bad." She said.

"I'll win." Sherlock said.

"Nope." Emma said, popping the 'p', as she took a bite of chicken.

By the end of the first game Emmaline and Sherlock had finished off their food and were working on a second basket of fries. When the screen announced Sherlock the winner, and the next game starting, Emma laughed.

"You are better than me." She admitted.

"Darling, that was evident from my first strike." Sherlock said with a smile, rising from his seat to bowl.

"And very, _very _clear, after your seventh." Emma added.

Sherlock bowled another strike right off the bat and Emma sighed. She knew there was no winning against him; he won every game they played except Monopoly. Cluedo, he made up rules. Chess, he was a better strategist. Bowling, he had years of practice. But Monopoly…that was pure chance and a business-oriented mind.

"Come on, two more games, then we can have pie."

"Alright, you've convinced me." Emma stood up to take her chance to bowl.

ᶓ

"This isn't pie." Sherlock said, taking a bite.

"OK I guess I was wrong – its cheesecake."

"How could you mistake the two?"

"Apparently very easily." Emma defended, digging her fork into the crust.

After a few minutes silence, and a polished off cheesecake, she looked up.

"You know, we've known each other for almost a year." She thought aloud.

Sherlock was well aware of the fact. For almost a year, this young woman had embraced every one of his quirks and had prided him on them. Truly, having her in his life was a joy. Emma had been counting down, and had decided to give him a painting to celebrate.

"Our one year anniversary." Sherlock toasted.

Emma smiled. "We can celebrate in two months." She teased.

Sherlock looked down at his watch. "It's almost ten…you should probably be heading home."

"Yes, I suppose so." Emmaline sulked.

Sherlock helped her with her coat, and they walked out into the cold air and hailed a cab. The driver dropped Emma off at her door before taking Sherlock home. He stepped up to his flat and shed his coat. Sherlock was exhausted, but there was no way he would be able to get to sleep. He had had trouble getting to bed for a few weeks. Nevertheless, he put on his pajamas and tuckered down into bed, trying.

Emmaline went to her room and changed, snuggling into her pillows and blanket. She was glad that Sherlock was back; but something felt changed between them. Their friendship no longer felt like a life-raft that the two of them were clinging onto. With some of their secrets out in the open, it felt like a real friendship. A trusting relationship where both parties equally participated.

Each of them just had to get the other to open up a little more. Emma smiled happily. It was more like Sherlock was her life preserver, and she was his. The thought made Emmaline happy; everyday she missed her mother, but she was missing her less and less. There was still a hole the woman had left, but Emma would always have the memories of her mother to comfort her. Now, now, she had a beautiful friendship with Sherlock to look forward to.


	21. Chapter 21: Following the Trail

Chapter 21: Following the Trail

Sherlock and Emmaline were walking down the street, late on a Friday night. Their arms were intertwined as they hurried to get out of the cold. They had just finished eating pizza - it was Emmaline's Friday night - and were walking briskly back to Sherlock's flat.

They rushed up the five flights of stairs and into his apartment, shivering with the cold. Emmaline put her hands on either side of his face to warm him. Ever since Sherlock had come home, he had lost a considerable amount of weight. Emma knew that at the Centre he had gained weight, and had been looking healthier. It seemed to her that he still needed some time to adjust to the loss of his morphine. One month out of rehab and he looked unhealthy.

She had been feeding him balanced meals, and leaving notes around the house reminding him to eat throughout the day. They took long walks at least once a week, so he was getting exercise.

However, his cheekbones were sharp in his pale face, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Even after they had moved to the couch, Sherlock was still shivering. Emmaline drew him into her arms and rubbed her hands up and down his coat-covered arms, trying to warm him. Even though she was taking care of him, his body still craved the drug it had lost.

Sherlock closed his eyes as the shivering slowed; Emmaline's body heat was helping to warm him through his coat.

"Have you been taking your vitamins?" She asked, once he had become completely still.

"Every day."

"And you are eating the food I make you?"

"Breakfast, lunch, and supper." He confirmed.

"I'm going to build the fire up."

She stood from the couch and wrapped Sherlock in a blanket, before moving to the fireplace. Once a hearty blaze was roaring, she sat back down next to him. Sherlock held the fuzzy blanket around his shoulders, and nudged his way into Emma's arms.

Emma put a hand to his forehead.

"You don't have a fever." She said. "So you're not sick."

Sherlock did not answer. He knew this was the morphine's fault as well as she did. Even three months at the Centre had not cured his body of the addiction. Now that he was out, he could go get it whenever he wanted. The only thing that stopped him was the look on Emmaline's face when she had found out. The memory of that look haunted him. He never wanted her to look so disappointed in him again.

"It's late Emmaline, you should go."

"Are you sure? You don't seem well." Again, Emma placed her hand on Sherlock's forehead.

"I am going to bed – nothing exciting."

"Alright."

Emma leaned over to kiss Sherlock's forehead before standing up from the sofa. She made it to the door before she remembered.

"Oh, Sherlock, I can't hang out tomorrow."

"What, why?" He called from the couch, agitated.

"My grandparents and I are going to lunch tomorrow, and then I have a date Saturday night."

"A date?" Sherlock asked. She had not mentioned anyone new.

"I told you last week that I had gone on a date with Henry."

"Who's Henry?" Sherlock asked, standing up.

"Henry Carver – he's a boy in my year at school. I'm going to the movies with him tomorrow night."

"Oh." Sherlock said, taken aback. He had completely forgotten any mention she might have made to this Henry.

"I'll still come over in the morning to bring you breakfast."

"Thanks Emmaline." Sherlock yawned, stretching his arms above his head.

"Yeah; just remember to take your coat off before you go to bed." She said gently.

Sherlock rubbed his eyes and gave a non-committal wave in her direction.

"Goodnight Sherlock." She said, opening the front door to leave.

"'Night Emmaline." He called back, shrugging his coat off, and tossing it on the couch.

ᶓ

Sherlock watched from the parked cab as a young man walked up to Emmaline's door. He looked seventeen, which was how old Emmaline had said he was. He had tight dirty blonde curls and a high forehead; Sherlock could also make out that the clothes the boy was wearing were designer, so he had wealthy parents. Judging from the flowers behind the boys back, they gave him quite an allowance.

Emmaline answered the door with a smile plastered on her face and gave a gasp of surprise when Henry offered her the flowers. He went inside and Sherlock sat in the back of the cab, waiting for them to walk back outside.

The cabbie was giving no complaint as Sherlock had paid him a handsome tip to drive him wherever he wanted, no questions asked.

She and Henry emerged a few short minutes later. Sherlock smiled when he saw Emmaline's outfit: skinny jeans, and a black jumper with a penguin on it. He had bought that for her on a trip he had taken right before his trip into rehab.

"Follow them, but not too closely. They're going to the cinema down the street." Sherlock told the driver.

The cabbie did as he was told and pulled away from the curb, when the young couple was down the street from them. Sherlock watched the two of them closely as they walked, and noticed how she did not shy away when Henry slipped his hand into hers.

Sherlock frowned at the intimate contact. It was his experience that a second date was just another test-run, and in no way allowed for physical touch between the two participants. At least, that was what girls had always told him.

When the two walked into the cinema, Sherlock paid the driver his fare and walked in after them. He noticed that they had already bought their tickets and gone inside. From what he had noticed of the boy, and the flowers, and the handholding, surely he would be taking Emmaline to see whatever sappy romance was currently playing.

Sherlock smiled to himself as he bought his ticket. Little did Henry know that Emmaline actually preferred a good sci-fi action flick, to a romantic-comedy. But Sherlock did, and he looked forward to hearing Emmaline complain about her date the next day.

Sherlock walked into the theater, and popped the collar of his coat up to hide his face from view. She would not be on the lookout for him, but Emmaline would recognize Sherlock in a heartbeat. He quickly spotted the couple and worked his way up a few rows behind them, so he still had a clear view.

The entire time in the theater, Sherlock spent watching the two of them. However, the couple was watching the movie. Aside from sharing popcorn, and occasionally holding hands, nothing happened.

After the film ended, they stayed behind to sit through the credits and talk about the movie in excited tones. Sherlock was upset to see Emmaline so happy. Henry made her laugh on more than one occasion, light pealing laughter.

Sherlock was glad that she could be happy, after what had happened to her, but he was upset that she could be happy with somebody else. It was a conflict within himself that he would have to resolve. Judging from their body language and mannerisms, it was not a relationship that would end soon.

Sherlock sighed and hailed another cab to follow the pair home. It seemed, to him, that he would have to deal with hearing a lot about the 'wonderful' Henry Carver. The cab pulled up to the curb when Sherlock directed it to, and he watched as the young pair said goodnight on her doorstep.

He watched as Henry leaned in and very quickly, kissed Emmaline. He said a hurried goodnight and left; Emma stood on the doorstep a moment longer, a smile on her face. She watched Henry walking before bringing her fingers to her lips and turning around, walking inside.

Sherlock felt as though he had intruded on a private moment. Emmaline could never know that he had done this; it was wrong of him. What had he been thinking, following her on a date? Clearly, she had had her first kiss tonight and she would want to recount it to him the next day. Sherlock shook his head, disgusted with himself.

He told the cabbie his address and paid him as he got out at his home. As soon as he stepped inside, his cell began to ring.

"Hello?" He answered, pulling off his coat.

"You will never guess what happened tonight!" Emmaline squealed over the phone.

Sherlock sighed, but made his tone interested. "What?"


	22. Chapter 22: Dependency

The World is Spinning BackwardsDylan Eiler

**A/N: Thank you to all the lovely people who continue to review, and I apologize if I do not reply to every single one of you **** I hope you continue to enjoy!**

Chapter 22: Dependency

Sherlock looked over the file Lestrade had faxed him. Nothing about the case was particularly interesting, but Sherlock was bored. The DI had not given him a case in days, and this was the only one for Sherlock to work on.

Emma sat next to him on the tiny leather sofa at Nonni's, working on her homework. She was muttering to herself in French and every few minutes writing something down. Sherlock peered over at her homework. He pointed at the beginning of her sentence.

"That should be _je suis_."

"Oh." Emma erased furiously and corrected her mistake.

She took a sip of her coffee before resuming her mutterings. Sherlock smiled and looked back at the case. It was a rather simple murder case; he took out his phone and texted Lestrade the necessary details to catch the criminal. Emma finished her French work and closed her textbook.

"Thanks." She smiled at Sherlock.

"I saw an error, and I corrected it." Sherlock shrugged.

Emma rolled her eyes and started packing up her book bag. Sherlock put his phone in his pocket and paused. He felt a tremor in his hand. He pulled it out and stared at it; it shook again. It had been happening more and more frequently over the past month; he needed the morphine. He turned quickly to Emmaline.

"Can we please go now?"

"Yeah, just a second." Emma said gently, noting the tone of distress.

Sherlock bounced his knees in impatience; he needed to be back in his flat, and soon. Emma grabbed her bag and shouldered it. Sherlock took her hand and the pair grabbed a cab, quickly getting back to Sherlock's flat.

As Sherlock rushed up the five flights of stairs, Emma shouted after him. "What is the matter?"

Sherlock did not answer; he reached into his pocket and grabbed his keys, both hands shaking now. Emma walked up behind him and opened the door; as soon as that stabilizing weight was gone, Sherlock fell over the threshold into his home.

"Sherlock, are you OK?"

Emma closed the door, threw her bag across the room, and kneeled down next to him. Sherlock clutched at his stomach and drew his knees to his chest. Emma felt his forehead; he was burning up.

"I need – morphine. I – I need – the – morphine." Sherlock spoke in struggling breaths.

"No." Emmaline shook her head. "No way."

"Please – it – hurts!" He yelled, closing his eyes and looking down.

"Give me painkillers, give me anything!" He begged, tears coming to his eyes.

"No." Emma said firmly.

It hurt her to see Sherlock like this, but she could not give in. Giving him the morphine, or even painkillers, would only hurt him. What he needed was time to get over the pain. Struggling, Sherlock picked his head up to look at his friend.

"It's an addiction, not physical dependency. My brain and my body crave this drug, even if I have not had it in months. I need…I need you to help me." He whispered.

Emma took pity on the pathetic creature writhing on the floor in front of her.

"I'm not giving you pain meds."

Emma felt his head again; he was hot and sweating. "Let's get this coat off."

Sherlock helped her take his coat off before he started shivering again.

"Are you feeling cold?" She asked.

He nodded his head quickly.

Emma pulled a blanket off the back of the couch and covered him with it, tucking it around him as best she could. Then she sat up against the couch and pulled Sherlock into her arms, holding him. Even if he would never admit it, her physical presence helped. It was comforting to know that someone was there for him, and cared about what he was going through. He understood that she was not going to give him anything, so he would have to fight through it.

Emma ran her fingers through his dark curls, keeping the hair off his forehead. She started humming a lullaby and rocking him in her arms. Sherlock's shivering stopped after a few minutes, though he was still hot and cold. His eyelids drooped and he quickly fell asleep. Emma looked to see if his eyes were closed.

She watched the clock, and once he had been asleep for fifteen minutes, she moved carefully out from under him. She stood up on the couch, and putting her arms under his armpits, dragged his upper body onto the couch. She swung his legs up next, and settled him down for his nap.

Emmaline grabbed the thermometer from the bathroom and stuck it under Sherlock's tongue. He was running a temperature of 99°. She washed the thermometer off and sighed. He probably had a cold or the flu. No doubt it was a reaction to his body being off the drugs, his illness. Bu the fact that he had been clean for three months, and his body was just now reacting to its missed opiate?

Emma knew she was going to have her hands full, taking care of him for a while. Sherlock needed time to get over his addiction and that would not be easy. She ran a hand through her hair and thought of what to do next. Luckily for him, it was Friday so she could spend all weekend taking care of him. Her grandparents had also told her Thursday morning before school that they were leaving for an eight-day cruise on Monday afternoon, so she could take care of him during the week as well.

Emma grabbed Sherlock's phone from his pocket and looked up Lestrade's number. She would have to tell him not to send any cases to Sherlock while he was sick. If he were too tempted by one, the idiot would get out of bed to investigate. She texted Lestrade about Sherlock being ill, and warned him not to send him anything.

Emma grabbed the trashcan from the bathroom and set it next to the couch. If he was sick with the flu, then he would want to vomit. Emmaline did not want to clean anything up because he could not make it to the bathroom in time.

After rifling through the cabinets, she found that Sherlock did not have any disinfectant spray.

"Awesome, just awesome." She said to herself, grabbing her purse.

She would have to go and buy cleaning products for his flat, and probably some soup while she was at it. She closed the door quietly and locked it, so no one would disturb him.

ᶓ

"I'm sorry that you had to see that." Sherlock whispered.

"Nonsense; you're lucky I was here."

Emma scooped another spoonful of chicken-noodle soup and bought it to Sherlock's lips. He slurped it down. Emma had only made him half a can so the bowl was soon gone.

"Can't I have some more?" Sherlock pleaded.

"Not until we see how your stomach does. If you can handle that, we'll see."

Emma patted down Sherlock's covers. It had been a few hours since his episode in the main room. He had woken up and changed into pajamas, and settled into bed. Emmaline had given him a glass of water, and a few crackers. She had read a few chapters of a book to him, before he requested something more filling for his stomach.

"Has it happened before? What happened out there?" She asked, tucking the blankets in around him.

"A few times over the past month."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I did not want you to be worried."

"Well, too late." Emma finished tucking him in. "Let's just hope you get better soon."

Emma stood and turned the lights off in his room.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, child-like.

Emma smiled in the dark. "I have to disinfect your apartment; don't worry, I'll be here all weekend."

Emma gently closed the door so Sherlock could get the rest he sorely needed.

ᶓ

"Ahh." Emma moaned, rolling over on the couch.

"Stop fidgeting; here's your soup." Sherlock commanded.

He was sitting on the coffee table in front of her couch, and holding out a spoonful of chicken-noodle soup to feed her.

Emma ate the bite and looked at him between slanted eyelids.

"I hate you."

"What, why?" Sherlock asked, thinking he had actually done something to offend her.

"You look so healthy."

Sherlock laughed and gave her another bite. Emma had taken care of him Friday, Saturday, and Sunday before he had gotten better. Tuesday morning Emmaline had called to tell him that she had gotten the flu as well and blamed him.

So he had come over to take care of her; it was Wednesday afternoon and she hadn't thrown up in almost twenty-four hours.

"Don't worry, you'll be better soon."

"I know; I just hate being sick."

"There – that's all the soup."

Sherlock left the room to go and wash the bowl out. He looked out the window while he did so, checking for Henry. Emma had called to tell him she would not be at school for a few days because of the flu. So Saint Henry had decided that he would bring her homework every night and help her with it.

Since Sherlock was over nursing Emma back to health during the day, he left when Henry came over and walked around the neighborhood. He did not want Emma to be talked about at school for having an adult friend; it was a strange situation and he did not want to hurt her.

At the same time, he wanted Henry to know that there was someone taking care of her better than he was. He wanted the boy to know that there was someone who cared more about Emma and was willing to risk getting the flu _again _to take care of her.

But he would never do that, because it would hurt Emmaline. And that was one thing he never wanted to do.

"Sherlock," Emmaline croaked. "Can I get a glass of water?"

"Yeah!" Sherlock called. He filled a glass for her and saw that Henry was just down the street.

"Your boyfriend's here, I have to go." He said, handing the glass to her.

"No you don't." She replied, taking a small sip.

"Yes I do sweetie." Sherlock kissed her forehead and grabbed his coat, slipping outside unseen. He put the coat on and popped the collar, walking in the opposite direction down the sidewalk.

ᶓ

On Saturday night, Sherlock watched from down the street as Henry and Emmaline left her house. She had gotten better the day before, and Henry was taking her out to the cinema. Sherlock lit up his cigarette and breathed in deeply. It was a habit he had decided to pick up again. He watched as they walked down the street, and turned away, disgusted.

What kind of a friend was he to spy on a date, or to feel thorn wrap around his heart? He was happy that Emmaline was happy and that would just have to do. Sherlock inhaled more of the tobacco as he walked into the dark night, thoroughly wishing that Lestrade would have a case for him tonight. Anything for him to forget whatever he was feeling.

**A/N: OK, so I feel really happy that so many of you have stuck around and are reading still! Just a word that they will get romantic (if jealous Sherlock was not enough to tell you that) just not for a while. I will be skipping time so some months will be skipped if nothing eventful happens in them. **


	23. Chapter 23 SeventeenisSweeterthanSixteen

Chapter 23: Seventeen is Sweeter than Sixteen

On Emma's seventeenth birthday, her grandparents took her out to dinner. Not only had she celebrated another year of life, but she had also finished her second to last year of secondary school with all 'A's'. They took her out to a fancy restaurant where she was allowed to get dressed up, and they even got a bottle of champagne. They talked about school, and friends, and by the end of the evening even talked about Emmaline's mother and how much she was missed, a year after her passing.

The next night Henry took her to the movies and then bowling to celebrate her birthday and their four-month anniversary. They enjoyed their romantic film and ate at the bowling rink; Emma won both games and accused Henry of letting her. Their evening ended with a three-minute goodbye kiss on her porch that night.

Sherlock waited patiently until the weekend, when he could take her out for her birthday. Since they had both been sick in May, and Henry and her grandparents had started taking up more of her time, they had not been able to celebrate their own anniversary. The one year mark since they had met and become friends.

He had met her as a lonely little fifteen year old on that plane, and now she was a battle-scarred seventeen year old who was independent and strong. Sherlock had to admire how far she had come. Of course, he had been through a lot too. They had been through it all together. Their friendship had weathered the road, and passed every test.

So on Saturday night, Emmaline came over to Sherlock's flat to celebrate both momentous occasions.

"You still have not told me what we are doing." Emma told him.

"I promise, you'll enjoy it." He said, smiling.

They went outside and hailed a taxi, Sherlock giving the cabbie an address that Emma did not recognize.

"Seriously, where are we going?"

"I'm not telling; but you _will _like it." Sherlock promised.

They drove in silence, Emma bouncing up and down in her seat, and Sherlock enjoying her excited annoyance. Finally, the cabbie pulled up to a large venue and they got out. There were huge signs announcing the night's event: a Coldplay concert.

"Oh my god, are you serious?" Emma shrieked, staring at the people lined up to get inside.

Sherlock pulled two tickets out of his jacket and showed them to her.

"Sherlock!" Emma exclaimed.

She stood on her tiptoes to throw her arms around him and hug him. Sherlock stood there awkwardly for a moment before wrapping his arms around her and hugging her close. Emma pulled back and kissed his cheek, beaming.

"Let's get inside."

"But there's a line." Emma pointed out, staring at the long line of people.

"I know a guy." Sherlock whispered in her ear.

Sherlock walked up to the man outside the arena and flashed something at him. The man nodded his head and stepped aside, letting them in early.

"What was that?" Emma asked, wondering why the guy had let them inside.

Sherlock chuckled and handed her something.

"Lestrade's badge? How did you get this?" She asked, stifling back laughter.

"I pick-pocket him when he's annoying." Sherlock answered with a shrug.

"Wow." Emmaline laughed and handed Sherlock the badge back.

He pocketed it with a grin. They got to the ticket counter and showed their tickets. The man behind the desk pointed them in the right direction, and off they went.

"They'll be letting people in soon – the concert starts in half-an-hour." Sherlock informed her.

They looked at the numbers on their tickets and found their spot – just barely out of the mosh pit.

"I didn't think you would want to be in all of that."

"Thanks Sherlock."

They sat down, holding hands, and waited for other people to file in and for the concert to begin. After forty-five minutes of waiting, the band came on stage and began to play.

ᶓ

"Oh my god!" Emmaline raved, as they stepped into Sherlock's flat. "They were so good!"

"You haven't been able to stop talking about how good they were."

"Oh, sorry."

"No, it's OK."

They flopped down onto the couch, shoving their bag aside. Emma had bought Sherlock a t-shirt and a CD, with the insistence that he actually wear it. Sherlock had promised.

Sherlock set his hand on the armrest and put his other around Emma's shoulders; she rested her head in the crook of his neck.

"That was a fun night – thank-you."

"I had fun too." Sherlock insisted.

"You actually knew the words to a few of the songs."

"I do occasionally listen to the radio."

Emma laughed. "You just don't watch TV."

"Not if I don't have one."

Sherlock looked down at his hand; it had started shaking. He had not had an episode since May; not since the last one. He hated that his body would betray him – that his brain would ask for the drug at a happy time like this. Because Sherlock _was _happy, he had Emmaline.

Emma noticed and slipped her hand over his on the armrest.

"It's OK Sherlock; I'm here."

After a few minutes, his hand stopped shaking and Sherlock relaxed. Hopefully a few more months without his favorite substance would be enough to kick the addiction from the back of his mind.

Sherlock rested his head on top of Emmaline's, glad to have her here.

"Thank you." He told her, kissing the top of her head.

"No problem; what are friends for?"

Both friends smiled.


	24. Chapter 24: Finding Comfort

**A/N: For those unaware, there is a POLL concerning this book on my author's page, and it would help immensely with later chapters if you would go vote in it. Thank you!**

Chapter 24: Finding Comfort

Six months, they had been getting ready to celebrate their six-month anniversary. And then he had called.

"_Hey Emma."_

"_Hey!" She answered brightly. _

"_Can I talk to you?"_

_The tone of his voice should have warned her that something bad was coming. _

"_Sure."_

"_Emma…I want to break up."_

"_What?" Emma asked, blindsided. She felt a sick churning in her stomach. _

"_You have been really distant lately, and I feel like you are seeing someone else."_

"_What, no! I've been spending more time with friends, I told you that!"_

"_Friends that I have never met Emma." Henry said gently. _

_It was true that Emmaline had been spending less time with Henry – and spending more with Sherlock. She had missed her best friend, and it was not fair of her to abandon him because she had a boyfriend. _

"_And I started seeing Amelia."_

"_What?" Emma asked, tears forming in her eyes. _

"_I'm seeing somebody else, and I really like her, and I wanted you to know. We're done."_

_And then he had hung up. Emma had sat down on her bed, not quite believing what had happened. _

School started in just a few days, and he calls to tell her she'll be entering her last year single. And what's worse, he cheated on her with Amelia Grey, the class Saint. They were perfect for each other, and that's what made Emma angrier. Everyone had been surprised to learn that she and Henry were dating, because everyone in their year had bet on Amelia and Henry getting together. And now they had.

Emma needed someone who would not ask questions – someone who would hold her and make her feel better. She needed her best friend; she needed Sherlock. Without a word to her parents, Emma left the flat and hailed a cab, trying to keep herself together. She had liked Henry a lot – had thought she could have loved him.

Sitting in the back of the cab for ten minutes, were the some of the longest ten minutes of Emma's life. She wanted to be in front of Sherlock and able to cry. As soon as the cab stopped, Emma was out and rushing up the stairs to Sherlock's flat.

She pounded on the door, not caring if she was being loud.

"Wait a damn minute!" Sherlock's familiar voice called from behind the door.

Emma laughed shakily at the angry tone of his voice; she had probably woken him up. He opened the door, rubbing his eyes and was surprised to see Emmaline standing in his doorway, crying.

"Wha-?"

Emma cut him off as she threw her arms around him, and buried her face into his chest. Sherlock staggered back from the unexpected force of her embrace. He shut the door and stood there, wondering what to do with the crying girl.

"What's wrong?" He asked finally.

"Henry – cheated on – me, and then broke – up with – me." Emma blubbered into his chest.

"Oh poor Emmaline." Sherlock drew her over to the couch.

He was upset that his friend had been hurt, but was dancing inside that Henry was no longer around. He had never liked the boy, even if they had never met.

"Right before – our six-month – anniversary too!" Emma cried, throwing her arms around Sherlock again.

Sherlock reciprocated the warmth, trying to comfort his friend. He was all too aware of forming emotional connections with people, only to have them break your heart. He hated that it had happened to Emmaline.

"It's OK." He cooed, running his hand over her hair. "He was stupid." Sherlock thought of all the girls he had pined after in University his first year.

After being exposed to a completely new world, and meeting girls for the first time in his adult life, Sherlock was a bumbling idiot. And he had paid dearly for his social faux pas, being used and dumped many times.

"He's such an ass!" Emmaline said, with new anger. "How could he cheat, Sherlock? How could someone do that?"

"I don't know." Sherlock leaned back against the couch cushions, drawing Emma into his arms.

She snuggled up against him, her tears drying.

"Do you know your shirt is inside out?" Emma asked, poking the collar of Sherlock's gray shirt.

"They irritate my skin, so I wear them inside out." Sherlock replied.

"How have I known you for a year, and not known that?"

"Because you never asked." He said, kissing the side of her head. "Do you need ice-cream?" He asked.

"Ice-cream would be great."

Sherlock heaved himself off the couch and into the kitchen. He came back with two spoons and a carton of mint chocolate chip ice-cream. The way he understood it, from the chick flicks Emmaline had dragged him to, women needed comfort food such as chocolate and ice-cream in a time

"Here you go." He handed Emma a spoon and sat back down.

"How come you never call me Emma, just Emmaline?"

"I like Emmaline better – it's your name." Sherlock shrugged, taking a bite.

"Does that mean I can't call you Sherly behind your back?"

"What?" Sherlock asked, turning to stare at her.

Emma broke out laughing at her friend's expression.

"I don't really call you that!" She said through bursts of giggles.

"Well good – that is ridiculous."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, taking turns scooping out ice cream.

"So do you feel better now?"

Emma put her head on Sherlock's shoulder, and dropped the spoon into the empty ice-cream container.

"A little." She answered.

Sherlock set aside the empty container and spoons and put his head on top of Emma's.

"He's not worth crying over; you'll find someone better soon."

"You really think so?" She asked.

"I really do."

Emma threaded her fingers through Sherlock's letting their joined hands rest in his lap.

"I'm glad I have you as a friend." She whispered.

"Me too." He replied with a soft smile. "So what do we do now, throw darts at a picture of him?" He asked after a few moments silence.

Emma burst out laughing again at her friend's attempts to make her feel better. He was doing a great job of it. Nevertheless, it would take her time to get over Henry. She had cared very deeply for him and that was not something you just got over after a few hours of crying into your best friend's shirt.

"Something like that." She answered.

"Well here –" Sherlock reached over and picked a book up off the floor. "_A Tale of Two Cities." _

"Are you offering to read to me?"

"Will it take your mind off Henry?" Sherlock asked seriously.

"Yes."

"Then I will."

Sherlock paused for Emmaline to get comfortable. She laid down on her back, feet hanging over the end of the couch, and her head in Sherlock's lap.

She loved listening to Sherlock read, and it was something they did often. He had read her a few books over the past year and she enjoyed hearing his smooth, deep baritone weave in and out of the words and sentences.

"Ready?" He asked.

"Yeah." She smiled up at him.

"Alright." He cleared his throat before beginning. "_It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…"_

**A/N: I know these chapters are short, but we're getting into the good stuff soon! However I have to get to next year, and obv. stuff still happens throughout the end of the year. I promise another 4-5 chapters before we get to the **_**GOOD **_**stuff. **

**I would also like to thank all of you lovely reviewers, you are my life's blood. You make writing this all the more worth it, so a virtual hug for every single one of you! **


	25. Chapter 25: Trick-or-Treat

**A/N: OK so I saw Iron Man 3 Friday and it was so amazing and fantastic, and then Doctor Who was on last night so I didn't update. But here it is, so enjoy. **

Chapter 25: Trick-or-Treat

Sherlock adjusted his blonde wig in the bathroom mirror. He checked his white sweater, and orange ascot, before stepping into the living room.

"Almost ready?" He called.

"Just a second." Emmaline said hurriedly, walking over to the window, with a candle and a lighter.

"It's been a month." He said gently.

"I know, but I want to pray for them."

Emma put the candle on the window-ledge and lit it, saying a silent prayer for those who had died last month. Sherlock sighed but joined her, bowing his head. Every day since September 11th, Emmaline had lit a candle and prayed. The disaster had rocked her home country, and the rest of the world felt for America. Being away from home, it was the least Emma could do, to pray for the families of those who had lost someone.

She crossed herself and stood up. "Alright, I'm ready now."

"Get the buckets." Sherlock reminded her.

Emma smiled softly and grabbed the Halloween buckets that would carry their candy.

"You know, you don't look bad blond."

"You make an awful red-head."

"Hey!" Emma laughed, slapping his arm playfully.

Sherlock smiled and led Emma out of the apartment and down to the first floor, where kids were already gathered. It had been Emma's idea last year to take Sherlock trick-or-treating, since he had never done so as a child. She also got to pick out the costumes, since Sherlock had done so last year.

Halloween of 2000 he had picked out Spock and Uhura. For Halloween 2001, Emma had dressed them up as Fred and Daphne. Sherlock had not complained, and worn the costume. He had been surprised when Emmaline had come out of the bathroom in her costume. The purple dress was short, and tight, and he had found his gaze lingering a little too long. Every now and again he found his glances wondering to his friend and he quickly looked away, hoping she had not noticed.

She herself had been admiring his costume. The white sweater and blue jeans were just tight enough to accent what he had, and Emma could not keep her eyes off him. She mentally cursed and berated herself, because this was her best friend. Looking at him, she thought she did not feel any differently. After all, this was Sherlock. So she brushed the thoughts away and looped her arm in his, walking outside.

Sherlock was practically jumping up and down with the joy of going trick-or-treating. If Mycroft could see him now, the elder brother would surely giggle about his little brother's childishness. For once, Sherlock did not care. He was dressed up, with his best friend, and getting free candy. Not to mention this was a childhood experience he was sorely lacking in memories of.

So at 7.00, Emma and Sherlock began to ring on the doorbells of neighboring flats and get candy. Many a time adults looked at them suspiciously, especially Sherlock. Emma would secretly sign 'crazy' and point at him, which then triggered sympathetic looks on the faces of the adults, and extra candy for Sherlock.

They walked around the neighboring blocks, filling their buckets with the free sugar-filled goodness.

"My feet are killing me." Emma said, stopping Sherlock with a hand on his arm.

She deftly took off her two-inch purple heels and Sherlock took them, holding them in the crook of his fingers.

"Thanks." Emma smiled and kissed Sherlock's cheek.

"Emma?" A familiar voice called from behind them.

She turned at the sound of her name, and saw Henry and Amelia behind them on the sidewalk. A cursory glance at their costumes told Sherlock that they were homemade, quite well, and that the girl had sewing talent. She had clearly made the costumes because of the needle pricks on her fingers. All Emma saw was that they were dressed up as Jack and Rose from Titanic.

"Henry." She smiled, forcing herself to sound pleasant. "And Amelia."

Amy smiled snootily and threw her hair over her shoulder. Sherlock decided immediately that he disliked her, and that anyone willing to leave Emmaline for her, was the dumbest person on the planet.

"How have you been?" Henry asked. "Haven't really talked much, you know?"

"Yeah well…you broke up with me." Emmaline pointed out.

"So, this is Henry, the ex?" Sherlock asked, feigning no knowledge of the boy.

"And who are you?" Henry asked, looking him up and down. Seemingly satisfied with what he saw, he turned back to Emma, not expecting a reply.

Sherlock smiled languidly. "I'm Fred." He snaked an arm around Emmaline's waist and stared pointedly at Henry. "I think Daphne and I should be going."

Emma felt the heat rise in her cheeks at Sherlock's touch; he turned them and they walked away down the block, back towards his flat. His arm stayed on her waist the whole time, and Emma could feel her cheeks turning redder. Her stomach was dancing, and her knees felt weak.

When they got to the flat, she walked shakily over to the couch while Sherlock was in the kitchen, putting his candy into a bowl. Emma pressed the backs of her hands to her cheeks and felt how hot they were. What the hell? She yelled at herself. She did not have time to think on it however, as Sherlock came into the living room with his bowl, and an empty one. His blond wig was off, probably in the kitchen, so she took her red wig off and set it next to her on the couch.

"Would you like to conduct a trade mission?" He asked, sitting on the floor by her feet.

"Are you asking if I want to trade Halloween candy?"

"Yes; it sounds much more childish if you say it that way."

Emma laughed and dumped her bucket into the bowl.

"Alright, let's trade."

She sank onto the floor next to Sherlock and they began to set aside the candy they hated, and would trade with.

"So, you really didn't go trick-or-treating as a kid?" Emma asked, setting aside Snickers.

"No; mum and dad were always too busy fighting to take us, and Mycroft didn't want to by the time I was old enough to know what it was. Sometimes mum bought us candy to make up for it, but not every year." Sherlock shrugged as if it was not a big deal, pulling the Butterfingers out of his bowl.

"What else didn't you celebrate?" Emma asked, curious. Even knowing Sherlock for a year, not all his secrets had been divulged.

"Sometimes we would not celebrate birthdays. It depended on what was going on. Dad was usually too drunk to remember and mum was too depressed. She got better after dad died though, and always remembered."

"What about Mycroft?"

Sherlock smiled softly. "Mycroft would sneak out of the house, take his pocket money, and buy me a cupcake whenever they forgot. We would sit in our room and pretend there was a candle in it, and he still let me make a wish."

"He sounds sweet, your brother."

"He was." Sherlock said harshly.

Emma reached over and put her hand on top of Sherlock's. "Did you do that for him?"

"Not until I was seven – before then I couldn't climb the fence, though I tried. He would always catch me and bring me back inside. He would tell me he did not mind not having cake or presents. After dad died, mum got better. She took medicine, and she remembered our birthdays."

"So you took care of each other." Emma stated.

"Yeah; he took care of me." Too bad he couldn't when I was grown-up.

"So why do you hate him now?" Emma asked earnestly.

Sherlock sighed. "Lestrade probably told you I did harder drugs – cocaine, while I was at University. Mycroft knew about it, but he did not stop me. Did not visit to talk about it, did not really visit at all. I thought I had done something wrong. But the first time I overdosed, he called the police and had me taken to the hospital. So I knew he was watching, but that he didn't want to see me. So now I don't want to see him."

"Sherlock, your brother does care about you. Maybe he just doesn't know how to tell you that he does."

"Why not? It was easy when we were children." Sherlock said, sounding like a lost and injured little boy.

"Because you were children. Everything is open and easy to say. But you grew up, and he didn't know what you needed. And judging from what I've seen of you, he's got to be a normal Holmes."

"Better, actually." Sherlock admitted.

"What?" Emmaline asked, surprised.

"Mycroft's smarter, and his powers of deduction better. But he's lazy, and he guesses. He doesn't investigate."

"Well those are some fantastic genetics." Emmaline whispered to herself. Sherlock heard and smiled.

"Here, take this." Sherlock tossed a Three Musketeers into her bowl.

"Not without giving you something." Emma said, rifling through her pile.

"I hate them, just take it; besides, I have more candy than you. How did that happen?"

Emma smiled knowingly, but steered the conversation elsewhere.

"So what was University like?"

"I got into Cambridge; scholarship, though I did not need it. Never decided what to study, and left after two years without a degree."

"Well, what did you do there? Did you like it?"

Sherlock paused for a moment, lifting his head to look into her eyes. "It was Hell."

Emma stared at him sadly, her eyes asking the question 'why?'

"I lived on campus, like most of the other students. My flat mate was a closeted gay athlete, and I deduced he was gay. He was convinced I had spied on him and he threatened to kill me if I ever told anyone.

"The first few weeks at University, we had seminars and orientation and that was how I introduced myself – deducing people around me. My mother and Mycroft had always encouraged the talent – Mycroft especially – so I thought it was OK.

"I got called 'Freak' and everyone hated me. Sometimes I got invited to dorm parties so everyone could talk about me behind my back. Girls would make fun of the way I looked, and would laugh whenever I tried to talk to them.

"A few times a pretty girl would ask me out, but it was only because her friends had dared her to. Or because the other boys wanted to humiliate me." Sherlock looked down, trying to avoid Emmaline's gaze.

"My last year there I was so scared and embarrassed I couldn't concentrate on my studies, and I got into cocaine. I thought it would make others like me, and that it would take away all my problems, but it did not. And I got addicted; no one was there to help me so I quit school. I was scared there, and I hated myself." Sherlock laughed shakily. "I've hated myself for a long time, actually."

Emma had sat there silently during Sherlock's sad testimonial, just listening. She could not understand how people could be so cruel, especially to someone as special as Sherlock. He was a fantastic friend, and everyone at University had missed out on knowing him. In fact, they had turned him to a shell of himself.

"Oh Sherlock, I'm sorry." Emma drew the man into a hug and stroked his curls. "Those people were idiots because you are wonderful."

Sherlock choked out a sob and wrapped his arms around Emmaline, burying his face in her neck and crying. In the year-and-a-half that Emma had known him, Sherlock had never cried in front of her. She had always figured that he was damaged, but never to what extent.

She let him cry as long as he needed to, just as he had always done for her. She ran her fingers through his hair, trying to help calm him as his tears soaked through the shoulder of her dress.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock sobbed into her shoulder.

"What for?" Emma whispered gently.

"I'm ruining your costume." He said lamely, sitting up straight.

He wiped his eyes and his nose on his shirtsleeve. Emma smiled sadly and took off her green scarf, wiping the rest of the tears from his face.

"Everybody cries; it is good for you." She told him.

Sherlock caught her hand in his and rested them in his lap; her heart picked up at the action, even though it was something they had done a million times before, holding hands.

"Don't go, please." He whispered, pleading.

"OK." She traced her thumb across his cheek. "I'm not going anywhere."

Sherlock nodded his head gratefully, and yawned.

"Come on; let's get you ready for bed."

She ushered Sherlock into his room and closed the door so he could change. He poked his head out a minute later.

"Here – I thought you might want some pajama's." He handed her a pair of fleece bottoms and his Coldplay shirt.

"Thanks."

She took the clothes from him and their fingers brushed. It was a thing that had happened a hundred times before but Emma pulled back quickly, as though she had been burned. Sherlock had not noticed but Emma's stomach curled as she walked away into the bathroom.

She changed quickly, ignoring whatever it was she was feeling and settled down onto the couch. Sherlock came out of the kitchen with a glass of water and locked the front door. He walked sheepishly in front of her and stood, shuffling his feet.

"Emmaline…uh, would you mind – umm…sleeping in my room?" Sherlock asked, embarrassed. "I'm scared."

"Of those kids? They're long gone Sherlock." Emma shook her head.

"No; that I might leave the flat and find him."

Emma immediately understood that he meant his dealer. This talk tonight had brought up his old feelings, and he was afraid he would try to find his dealer so he could use again. But if he knew Emmaline was there, and that he would disturb her by getting up, he could sleep.

"OK Sherlock." Emma nodded her head uncertainly.

"Thank you."

She walked quietly behind him and got into bed, the long day finally hitting her as she sank into the soft pillows. Emma turned her back to Sherlock, and he to her, and they both fell asleep rather quickly.

At some point during the night, Sherlock turned over and threw an arm over Emmaline, curling it around her waist and pulling her closer. She snuggled in closer, inhaling the tobacco scent that she had come to associate with him, but the vanilla was gone. It had been replaced by a leather smell that suited him more, she thought. She inhaled deeper and wondered if he wore cologne that made him smell like that. The fringes of her consciousness wondered this, and something else: What the hell is going on?

**A/N: Please review with your thoughts, I enjoy reading the comments!**


	26. Chapter 26: Back to December

Chapter 26: Back to December

The bow slid expertly across the strings, causing Emma to smile as she listened. Sherlock sat in his new armchair, playing a Christmas song on his violin. She was sitting across from him, on the sofa, and sketching him playing. She stuck her tongue between her lips as she drew the errant curl across his forehead.

Even though it was the beginning of December, Emma still had no idea what to get Sherlock for Christmas. Ever since Halloween, she had been acting strangely around him. They still hung out every week, but she had stopped holding his hand. She would no longer burrow up close to him when she was cold, and they had stopped cuddling on the couch when he read to her.

Sherlock was confused by all this behavior, but let her be. He assumed she was remembering her traumatic experience more lately, but that was not it at all. Emmaline's feelings had confused her ever since she had spent the night at Sherlock's on Halloween. She still thought of him as a friend, but different thoughts were creeping their way into her mind. So she had decided to quit physical contact with him cold turkey, and see if that helped. It had not – she still found herself thinking about him at all hours of the day and it scared her.

She had thought she would never feel differently about Sherlock – he was her best friend. And what she was feeling now – it was unhealthy, and she did not understand it.

Sherlock's playing was interrupted by his phone going off. He smiled and pulled it out of his pocket, glancing briefly.

"It's Lestrade – there's been a murder down the street and he wants me to come investigate."

Sherlock put his violin down and put his coat and scarf on. "Perhaps you better stay here; you might be uncomfortable down there."

"No way! I'm going!" Emma insisted, standing and reaching for her own coat.

Sherlock grinned. "Alright then, let's go."

Without thinking, she slipped her hand into his and they headed out onto the street. Sherlock sighed happily at the familiar contact; he had missed her. They walked briskly to the pub down the street, where the murder had occurred.

Lestrade greeted them at the crime scene tape, a brow raised at their holding hands. He knew Emma and Sherlock were close, but he had often wondered how close. Sherlock was aware there was a law, even if he did choose to ignore it sometimes. So anytime he and Emma came to a scene and he saw them close, he got uncomfortable. He was sure that they were just close friends, but Lestrade often wondered if that would not change.

"Looks like a bar fight gone wrong." Lestrade showed Sherlock to the body, putting a hand up for Emma to stay back.

She smiled at Lestrade. "What's his name?"

"Was just getting to that – twenty-seven year old Thomas Gabriel; newly married, no children, and no other family."

Sherlock snapped on the gloves that had been handed to him and began his examination of the scene.

"So, Christmas plans?" Emma asked Lestrade conversationally.

The detective inspector looked away from Sherlock and to Emmaline.

"Just hanging out with the girlfriend and her family."

"Oh? What's her name?" Emma asked, nudging Lestrade playfully.

She had become more comfortable with him over the past year, with the amount of time she spent around him. Sherlock had often gotten calls to help out with an investigation while she was over, so she would accompany him. While he would look around, she spent her time with Lestrade and she considered the two of them friends now.

"Diana." He answered with a small smile.

"How long have you two been together?"

"Eight months, at New Year's."

"Would you please stop talking about irrelevant things?" Sherlock asked, stooping over the body.

Emma rolled her eyes. "Do you have a picture?" She asked Lestrade.

"Yeah, give me a sec." Lestrade pulled his wallet out and showed Emma a picture of Diana.

Emma whistled and laughed as Lestrade blushed. The photo was of a curvaceous redhead with sparkling blue eyes and full pink lips.

"Well, she's very lucky to have a guy like you."

"Hey, hey, let go of me!" A shouting voice drew both their attention.

Sherlock had grabbed someone behind the crime scene tape and was pulling him over.

"What the hell?" Lestrade yelled, rushing over. "Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"This is the murderer." Sherlock announced triumphantly.

"Please – please don't hurt me." The man whimpered.

"Sherlock, what on Earth makes you think he's the killer?"

"The glass." Emma said.

"What?" Lestrade wheeled around to stare at her.

Sherlock smiled encouragingly at her.

"The dead man was killed with a beer bottle to the jugular, an attack of anger most likely, and a weapon that was easily available so the murder was not planned. This man has a bleeding finger, and a shard of brown bottle stuck in his finger – like the one in the dead man's throat."

"Is that right?" Lestrade asked Sherlock.

"Yes, very right." Sherlock said proudly.

Emmaline smiled her heart swelling. The way Sherlock looked at her…she felt good. Lestrade slapped cuffs on the man and shoved him in the back of a car.

"Thanks for your help Sherlock."

"Not a problem, but Emmaline and I will be going now."

"So I did well?" Emma asked as they walked back in the direction of his flat.

Sherlock laughed and threw an arm around her shoulders. "You did brilliantly." Emma flushed with pride.

ᶓ

Emma hailed a cab. She had finished celebrating Christmas with her grandparents a few hours before. She had decided not to change however to go over to Sherlock's. Her grandparents had insisted on her getting dressed up for Christmas since their friends would be coming over, so she had. She wore a flower pattern dress made of teal blue lace, and a black slip underneath and black heels. Her hair was up in a bun, with her bangs brushing across her forehead.

She got into the cab and headed for Sherlock's flat. Two weeks ago, he had gotten a little tree that they had decorated with ornaments in preparation for Christmas. She had insisted on putting up a tree, so he had gotten the tiny one that now sat on his living room floor.

An hour ago, he had called her to say that he was putting their little ham and that he would start the potatoes soon. Emma smiled and brushed her fingers across the package lying in her purse – Sherlock's present. She had gotten it for him last week, because she had been at an absolute loss as to what to get him. She hoped he liked it.

Emma walked up to Sherlock's flat and knocked on the door; even though she had a key, she hated to feel like she was intruding. He answered with a large smile and ushered her inside.

"Dinner's done, it's just waiting." He said proudly.

Sherlock was not much of a cook, but he was pleased with the job he had done. Emma smiled when she saw the overcooked ham and the sticky glaze.

"It looks good." She told Sherlock.

He beamed proudly as he got down plates. Emma admired his long arms before shaking her head and walking out into the living room, where she placed his present under the tree. She had recently gotten her job in the shop back, so she felt more independent of her grandparents.

"Here you go." He handed her a plate, and finally noticed what she was wearing. "You look – nice." He said, looking her up and down before stopping himself.

"Thanks. You don't look so bad yourself."

"I dress like this every day." He told her, looking down at his black pants, black jacket, and purple shirt.

"It still looks nice." She said, taking a bite of ham.

They ate, talking about how their day had gone, and how the last few days had been. Emma had not seen him the past three days because she had been helping her grandparents clean in preparation for the party. In their conversation though, she refrained from telling him she had sent a present to Mycroft, and addressed it as being from Sherlock. The younger Holmes would be upset if he knew about it.

"So, what did you get me?" She asked after they had finished eating and washed their dishes.

"You are so good at skillfully asking questions." Sherlock joked.

Emma giggled but Sherlock sat down in front of the tree and handed her a red box. She opened it, and inside was a book. _A Christmas Story _by Charles Dickens.

"Oh, thank you." She leaned over and hugged him.

"You've liked all the classics I have read to you so far – I thought you would enjoy this one."

"I'm sure I will, once you read it to me."

Sherlock smiled. "Of course."

"Here, open mine."

Sherlock ripped open the paper on the proffered present and found a royal blue scarf inside.

"To replace the gray one." He said with a smile.

"Try it on." Emma urged.

Sherlock obeyed, and looped the new scarf around his neck.

"I like it – it goes with your eyes." Emmaline complimented.

"Thank you." Sherlock smiled and leaned forward, planting a gentle kiss on her cheek.

Emma's cheeks turned a light pink as his soft lips touched her skin. It was something he had done before, but with Emma's confusion it turned into something more. By the time Sherlock pulled back to admire his new scarf, Emma's heart was racing beneath her rib cage, hammering away.

"Do you want me to read to you now?"

"Please." Emma smiled, trying to cover how confused she felt.

Sherlock hung up his new scarf and settled down on the couch, Emma next to him. He pulled a blanket down over them and picked the book up, starting to read. She found herself cuddling up next to him, her leg brushing his.

Emmaline listened to the deep smoothness of his familiar voice, and wondered at how rich it sounded. His dark, chocolate brown curls tightly wound upon his head, which were so familiar to her fingers. Then she glanced back down at his Cupid's bow lips, with their deep indentation that she had grown so fond of. Finally her eyes wondered back up to stealthily glance at his glatz colored eyes – always changing color, and always sparkling.

He finally looked healthy again; he looked like Sherlock. Not as when she had first met him, but what he was supposed to look like. A healthy twenty-five year old who did not do drugs, and whose only vice was the occasional cigarette. All these thoughts ran through her head as her tired eyes drooped.

She had had a long day at home, pretending to enjoy the company of her grandparent's friends. All she had wanted was to come and hang out with Sherlock, and now that she was, her mind insisted on confusing her. She was friends with Sherlock, but all she had been able to think about the past three months was how attractive he was.

As his deep baritone whisked her away to the land of dreams, she could not help but think she loved going to sleep to the sound of his voice. Her eyes closed, her head rested against his chest, and she fell asleep.

ᶓ

Emma blinked to consciousness in the early morning light. She looked around her for a moment, wondering where she was before she remembered. She had fallen asleep on Sherlock's couch the night before.

She looked over her shoulder and saw Sherlock behind her, asleep. They were still on the couch, and she was wrapped protectively in his arms. As Emmaline stared at the angel's face next to her, and felt the rise and fall of his chest against her back, she realized that it would be terribly difficult for them to remain friends. Because she loved him; and not just as a friend anymore; she was in love with Sherlock.

But what could she do about it? After all the horrible things he had experienced at the hands of those University girls, Sherlock had never dated again. He probably could not trust anyone like that ever again. And how could he love his best friend like that?

No, Emma decided sadly. It would be better for her to suffer in silence and accept his friendship, than to tell him how she felt and be rejected.

She gently removed herself from his arms, so as not to wake him, and covered him with the blanket. Emmaline looked down at his sleeping face, so open, and so trusting when he was not awake. Yes, she had fallen in love with Sherlock Holmes. And she had no idea how it had happened.

Emma found her shoes and purse, and left the flat quietly. She had made up her mind. She loved Sherlock enough to be his friend, while it killed her inside to never have him know how she felt. But it would be worth it to be near him every day, and to see him smile, and to see him look at her the way he did. Emma smiled softly as she thought of that look. He looked at her like nothing else in the world mattered.

**A/N: Oh gosh guys, what? I'll try to write a few more chapters today so you all can see what happens!**


	27. Chapter 27: A Surprise Party of Two

**A/N: Thank you to all the wonderful readers who have stuck with me this long, I promise, next chapter, your patience will be rewarded most handsomely *wink face***

Chapter 27: A Surprise Party of Two

Emma smiled at Sherlock from her spot on the couch. He was twiddling with a fork, eating some left-over chicken and rice she had made a few days before. It was his birthday – the first they were really getting to celebrate together – and he insisted that it go ignored. So she had called Lestrade to set up a little surprise party for him.

It had been almost two weeks since Emma's self-confession of love, and she thought she was coping well. She had reduced her time to see him to Friday nights and Sunday's, and had only painted his portrait three times.

She was broken from her thoughts by the sounds of Sherlock's phone ringing. He gave it a cursory glance before standing and grabbing his coat.

"Lestrade says a strange crime needs my attention."

"Oh? Do you want me to go?"

Sherlock smiled. "Of course."

Emma's heart leaped from her chest into her throat. Ever since December, she had allowed Sherlock to initiate the handholding and cuddling. She would not deny herself these things, even if she did see them in a different light now than Sherlock.

She put her coat on and Sherlock took her hand, leading her outside where he hailed a cab.

"So where does he want to meet us?" Emma asked.

"Scotland Yard, which means, it must be serious. Lestrade only calls me there if I need to be briefed on a case they have had a _lot _of trouble with."

"Well that's probably what's going on." Emma shrugged.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence; Sherlock was thinking of the different cases Lestrade could need his help with while Emmaline was trying to control her thoughts.

They stepped out of the cab and walked into Scotland Yard, and into Lestrade's dark office.

"Why the hell is it black in here?" Sherlock asked, searching for the light switch.

The light suddenly came on and Lestrade jumped up from behind his desk yelling "Surprise!" with Emmaline. Sherlock frowned and looked at the Detective Inspector's desk. It had a cake, a small punch bowl, and two presents on top of it. A small smile touched his lips.

"You did this for me?" He asked them.

"It was Emma's idea."

Sherlock turned to stare at the young woman standing behind him. "Thank you."

She smiled serenely at him.

"Let's eat some cake!" Lestrade yelled, excited.

Emma laughed and began cutting it up and handing it to the two boys. They both inhaled their first slice, and quickly grabbed another. Emma smiled as she finished her first piece. Both men seemed to have large stomachs.

"Really, thank you; this is better than doing nothing." Sherlock said again.

He leaned over to kiss Emmaline's cheek. She inhaled deeply as his frosting covered lips touched her cheek; it felt as if she was on fire, a hot fire building in her belly.

"Oh, sorry." Sherlock smiled sheepishly. He traced a thumb across her cheek, wiping the frosting off, before licking it off the tip of his thumb.

Emma's cheeks burned scarlet as she turned to Lestrade. His brow was cocked as he stared at the two, so comfortable with each other.

"So what was the case you wanted to call Sherlock in on?" Emma asked, clearing her throat.

"Oh well, there's been a few robberies my guys haven't been able to figure out."

"Wonderful." Sherlock said, taking a few files from Lestrade, leaving his presents untouched on the desk.

Emma smiled at the pleasant expression on Sherlock's face; Lestrade forgot her and began to consult with Sherlock. Emma slipped the presents into her bag so Sherlock would not forget them.

ᶓ

"That was pretty good." Emma said, swinging her and Sherlock's hands between them as they walked down the sidewalk.

"Pretty good? It was alright."

Emma laughed and jumped off the raised platform she had been walking on, and onto the sidewalk next to Sherlock. She stumbled a bit and he caught her, his hands automatically grabbing her waist and steadying her.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah – I'm fine." Emma said, a little shakily, as she looked into Sherlock's eyes.

He let go of her waist and they continued walking back home, his hand finding hers again.

It was April and Sherlock had just taken Emma to _Chitty Chitty Bang Bang _at the London Palladium, that they happened to live near. They had taken a cab there, but had decided to walk back in the evening April air.

When Sherlock had called her and told her to dress up, Emma had gotten excited. In some part of her mind, she imagined how she would look if this had been a date; the rational part of her mind knew that would never happen.

So Emma had rifled through her closet for an appropriate outfit; one that was dressed up, but still friendly, because this was not a date. No matter how much she wished it was, and no matter how much she had wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him five minutes ago when he had held her like that.

She had eventually settled on a three-quarter sleeve leopard shirt, a high waisted, but knee-length, red skirt, and a skinny black belt, and black kitten heels.

She had gone to Sherlock's flat to meet him to see that he had dressed in his usual black pants and blazer, and a black shirt. Emma had smiled when she saw him, as she always did now.

Emmaline had no doubt that Sherlock had some inkling of how she felt; he was a genius and a man that could deduce a computer programmer by his tie. Of course he could deduce her love from her flushed cheeks and dilated pupils.

"So, have you caught the robbers yet?" She asked conversationally.

"Not yet; they don't leave behind many clues, even for me. But they'll mess up eventually." Sherlock reassured her.

He and Lestrade had been looking for the thieves since early January, and it was nearing the end of April. He looked down at his watch; they had been walking for a good half-hour, and they were rounding the corner onto Emmaline's street.

"Should we do that again sometime, go to a show?" He asked.

"If you want to; I had fun." Emma answered, looking into the distance. "Hey, what is that?" She asked, pointing in the direction of her grandparent's flat.

"It looks like lights." Sherlock said, squinting to see.

"Are those…are those police lights?" She asked, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Emmaline…"

His tone of voice confirmed her sighting. Her spine tingled in dread as she thought about every possible scenario.

"They are probably at another flat – you have lots of neighbors." Sherlock said, trying to reassure her.

Emma did not answer; she broke out in a dead run in the direction of the lights, of her home. After a moment's indecision, Sherlock ran after her. If it really were her grandparents, she would be devastated.

Emmaline pumped her legs, running fast for being in one-inch heels. Her lungs burned as she neared her flat, and she could see officers coming out of one of the doors, but she was not sure if it was her home. She hoped to God that her grandparents were safe and it was one of her neighbors. _Please, not again. _

As she got closer, she could see one silver-haired officer standing outside the flat – her flat she could see now. An ambulance was on the sight and two stretchers with bags were being wheeled down the front steps.

"No!" Emma's strangled cry tore from her throat.

She stopped running and stood there, tears streaming down her face. Sherlock caught up to her, breathing heavily, and wrapped an arm around her.

_It's them, _he thought. _It's her grandparents. _He held Emmaline to him, her sobs racking her body. He leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"We have to talk to Lestrade."

Emma clung to his shirt and nodded her head. The last thing she wanted to do was see someone else. Sherlock kept an arm around her and guided her towards the police cars. Lestrade saw them approaching and stepped towards them.

"Emma, I am so sorry, but your grandparents – they have been murdered." He told her.

His heart went out to her as she stood there, tears and makeup running down her face, her hand bunched pathetically around a fistful of Sherlock's shirt like a child.

"You have to come down to Scotland Yard so we can ask you some questions, and to find you a relative to stay with."

Lestrade led Emma over to a car and he opened the door for her.

"Are you coming Sherlock?" He called.

Sherlock's mind raced. Emmaline could not leave – she could not.

"Give me a second!" He yelled, pulling out his phone.

"Hello?" The familiar voice answered on the other line.

"Mycroft – I need your help, please." Sherlock's strained voice said.

"What is it?"

"I need documents, whatever, saying Emmaline is my cousin. Please."

"Sherlock, slow down; what is wrong?"

Sherlock ran a hand down his face; he did not have time for slow.

"Emmaline's grandparents were killed – they're going to take her away from me Mycroft unless you can tell them I'm her cousin. Please." He pleaded.

"Give me thirty minutes." His brother answered, clicking the phone off.

Sherlock let out a breath he had not known he had been holding. He looked up at the starry sky and said a silent _thank you. _

Emma scooted over as Sherlock got in the car. If Mycroft could come up with those documents, then she would not have to leave. His Emmaline could stay with him.

He put an arm around her shoulders and she buried her face in his chest, resuming her crying.

"Do you have any leads?" Sherlock asked Lestrade.

"It's all exactly like the other robberies we have been investigating, except for the double murder. We think the Bells' surprised them at home, and that's why they were killed."

Sherlock ran a hand over Emmaline's hair, and whispered a 'Shh' in her ear. "We're almost at Scotland Yard."

Emma's fingers tightened their grip on Sherlock's shirt. He kissed the top of her head. "You're not going anywhere; I promise." _Please Mycroft. _

ᶓ

"How are you doing?" Sherlock asked.

Emma walked into his flat, numb. They had been at Scotland Yard for hours, answering questions before trying to find a guardian. Sherlock's name had come up as her nearest living relative – a cousin. In the car, Sherlock had told her how he had called Mycroft and had him draw up documents.

He was not really her cousin – but everyone else thought so, and now she could stay in London. She could stay with him. And the thought caused a little of her bleeding, crying heart to fix itself. But only a little.

She had just lost her grandparents – her one last connection to her mother. The one last connection she had to family. Emma was officially an orphan, and officially alone.

She sank onto the couch, not knowing how to feel. She had cried her eyes out in the car, and at Scotland Yard. She just felt empty. Sherlock sat down on the couch next to her, brushing hair out of her eyes.

"How are you doing?" He asked again.

"I didn't spend enough time with them." She whispered.

"You had just lost your mother – how were you supposed to get close to them?"

"I got close to you." She accused, turning her head to stare into his eyes.

"Oh darling." He said sadly, drawing her into his arms.

Emmaline welcomed the comforting touch as she again sank into tears, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Sherlock ran his fingers gently up and down her spine as she heaved great sobs; for a moment, he thought she would break from the force of it. However, his Emmaline was strong, and she would get through this, just as she had with her mother. They sat there for the better part of an hour, and he did not once complain that she was ruining his shirt, or that he did not understand the sentiment. Because he was starting to understand it.

ᶓ

Emma gently took Sherlock's hand, drawing strength from him. They were staring at the newly packed down earth that marked her grandparent's resting place. He traced circles on the back of her hand, hoping to stop her from breaking down into tears again.

She had lived with him for a week, and it had been a long week. She had moped about the flat, numb to everything. Friends from school called her and she gave monotonous one-word answers to their questions. She would come home and do her homework, not speaking to Sherlock.

The truth was Emma was emotionally exhausted. She was not sure how she was supposed to get up in the morning and go through her day. She had lost three people in the past year-and-a-half who were all important to her. The only one who was still here was Sherlock; and she could not even tell him she loved him.

Her life was a mess, and she was not sure how to put it back together. Standing here with Sherlock, she felt a little better. No matter what happened to her, she truly believed that he would be there for her, to take care of her if she needed it.

Emma gripped Sherlock's hand tightly.

"Can we go now?" She asked, her voice thick with unshed tears.

"Are you done saying goodbye?" Sherlock asked.

"I'll never be done saying goodbye." She replied.

He turned and hugged her close to him. "I will find them Emmaline – I promise." He whispered in her ear.

Emma threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. He kissed her forehead – pressing his lips against her smooth skin for one, two, three seconds.

"I promise." He whispered, pulling back to see her shining eyes.

He brought his thumb up to wipe away her falling tears.

"Come on."

And he wrapped his fingers tightly around hers and led her from the grave markers of her grandparents, away from the dusky sunlight, and to the car waiting for them to take them home. As Sherlock held her in the car, looking down at the strong young woman she had become in the almost two years he had known her, he felt a misplaced sense of pride.

He had not fashioned her into this strong woman, but he liked to think his influence was in there somewhere. Just the knowledge that some part of him might be in her heart brought a smile to Sherlock's lips.

"We're home." He whispered in her ear.

_Sometimes the hardest part isn't letting go but rather learning to start over ~~ Nichole Sobon _


	28. Chapter 28: The Month of May

Chapter 28: The Month of May

Emma sat on the couch, her knees curled into her chest. She had been living with Sherlock for two weeks, and he had tried to accommodate her. However, lately, he had been gone for hours on end and she felt lonely. She knew he was trying to catch her grandparent's murderers, so that she would feel better, but right now, she needed him.

All she had to fill her time was school, and going to church. She went every night to the church down the block and lit a candle for her grandparents, praying they were safe and happy, wherever they were.

Even school was quickly leaving. Emma had two months left before she graduated and went off to University. So far she had applied to a number of different schools, but had heard back from none of them. She desperately wanted to continue her education, to become a Psychologist.

Emmaline rolled over onto her side, pulling a blanket up around her. Even though Sherlock had been gone a lot, she could hardly blame him. She had been distant with him as well. And he had given her the space he thought she needed. But what Emma needed _was_ Sherlock.

It was completely unhealthy for her to still be thinking about him, especially in the emotional state she was currently in. But Emma couldn't help but to think of him, and it was helping her to get through it.

The truth of the matter was, she had not known her grandparents very well, and she felt awful for it. At the reading of the will, they had left everything to her. As soon as she was eighteen, she would earn quite an inheritance, all thanks to the lovely people who took her in after her mother died.

The door opened and Emma was thrust from her morose thoughts as Sherlock walked in, bringing some of the spring air with him. He took off his scarf and coat, staring sadly at the lump on his couch. A few weeks ago, she had been a bright young woman. Now she seemed like a colorless blob the world had chewed up and spit back out.

Sherlock leaned over to brush her hair out of her face, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"We caught them." He told her.

This caused a slight stirring in her, and she sat up slowly.

"Really?"

"Rodney Collins and Avery Smith – both twenty-five, both in the same gang."

"How did you find them?"

"Tennis shoes." Sherlock answered simply.

Emma cocked a brow but did not ask for an explanation. She knew her friend's genius by now to know that it worked wonders.

"They're being held and questioned, and Lestrade is going to formally charge them at some point." Sherlock said, sitting down on the couch.

"Sherlock, thank you." Emma said, throwing her arms around his neck.

"I don't want to see you moping around the flat anymore; go hang out with your other friends." He urged her.

"I don't want to." She insisted.

They had had this fight multiple times over the past two weeks. Sherlock kept insisting she get real human interaction, while she maintained that he was the only human being she wanted to spend her time with right now.

"At least go to Prom." He told her.

Emma sighed and sat back on the couch.

"I don't want to go; it will depress me."

"Emmaline, please. Do it for me." Sherlock pleaded.

He needed to see some part of her life being normal, like it would have been if her grandparents were still alive, or if she and Sherlock had never met.

"Fine; I'll go." She assented with a huff.

ᶓ

Over the next two weeks, Sherlock watched Emmaline preparing for Prom. She would try out different nail polishes, hair-do's, and makeup applications, to test out how she wanted to look. Every time she asked Sherlock how she looked, he said she looked fine every time. It was the truth; Sherlock thought she looked great no matter what she had on. A week before the event she bought her ticket – Emma was going alone – and went dress shopping by herself.

Two days before the dance he saw Emma lighting the candle in the window for her grandparents, and probably her mother as well. As he sat, pretending to read, and watched her, he thought that maybe Prom was a bad idea. It was a huge social event, with everyone she knew from school, and all they would do was pity her.

As he looked at her, he noticed how thin she had become, and the dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep. Every night they switched off between the couch and his bed, but it seemed neither place was doing her any good. She had been eating less as well, and it worried him.

He was about to open his mouth and suggest not going, when another idea struck him. A better idea and one that he was sure Emmaline would enjoy more. So Sherlock kept quiet and waited for the day of the Prom.

ᶓ

Emmaline looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her brown smoky eye and gold tipped lashes complimented her brown eyes and olive skin. Her hair was brushed back into a high bun, her bangs brushing across her forehead. She stepped back to check her dress, to make sure it fit all right.

A dark green, sleeveless corset dress bloomed out into a full skirt. It was simple except for pleating around the waist and a jewel encrusted flower broach at the left hip. She had kept her jewelry simple, diamond drop earrings.

Emma sighed at her reflection and stood up straight. She was doing this for Sherlock, not because she wanted to. But she had to act like she wanted it, and like it was a good thing. She could probably sneak away after Sherlock dropped her off, she thought.

Emma stepped out of the bathroom and into the main room, waiting for Sherlock. He had urgently stepped out thirty minutes before, saying he would be back in time to drive her to the dance.

"All ready?" Sherlock asked, stepping into the flat.

He stopped dead in the doorway when he saw her, standing there, looking so out of place but so right. His mouth went dry and his heart began a race to the finish line, where it was he was not sure. He mumbled a few incoherent things, bringing a smile to Emmaline's lips. Finally, he wetted his mouth and asked again.

"All ready?" He asked, clearing his throat.

"What are you wearing?" She asked, looking him up and down.

"Oh, I have – a –thing, tonight." He said, unsure.

"Must be a hell of a thing." Emma said, stepping past him.

"Oh it sure is." He mumbled to himself.

Emmaline walked down the five flights of stairs ahead of Sherlock, her cheeks turning bright pink. She had been staring, but so had he. He was dressed up – in a black suit and bow tie. The thought that had, a minute ago, made her smile, now made her slightly sad. What if he had a date and that was why he was dressed up? The thought of Sherlock being with another woman caused Emma's heart to ache in the worst of ways.

Sherlock opened Emmaline's door for her, and got in the car, driving onto the street. It was a car he had borrowed from Mycroft, sleek and black. His brother did not know why he needed the car just that he had asked to borrow it. And his brother had willingly obliged.

"You just passed where the dance is." Emmaline spoke up, twenty minutes later.

"I know." Sherlock answered with a knowing smile.

"Are you kidnapping me?" Emma asked with a grin on her face.

"I suppose."

They drove for another twenty minutes, Emma practically bouncing up and down with anticipation. She could not wait to see what Sherlock had planned for her. Then she thought – _he is dressed up for me. I am what he has got going on tonight. I am 'the thing'. _

The thought made Emmaline so happy that she grew even more impatient as to their destination. Another five minutes, and Sherlock pulled in to an abandoned warehouse parking lot, just on the edge of the city.

"So, you kidnapped me, to kill me?" Emma asked, looking around at where they were.

Sherlock laughed and shook his head. "Have some imagination. You're still getting a Prom."

Sherlock rifled through the glove box before he found what he was looking for – a mix CD. He put it in the player and helped Emmaline out of the car – leaving the engine running, the doors open, and the volume up.

Frank Sinatra crooned from the car speakers.

"This is my prom?" Emma asked as Sherlock slipped a hand around her waist.

Sherlock nodded. "This way, you still get to dance, but you don't have to be around the crowd."

Emma put a hand on his shoulder and they started dancing around the parking lot.

"This is wonderful." Emma said serenely, staring up at her 'date'.

"I thought you might like it."

So they danced; slow, fast, to the beat of whatever song came on. Every few songs they took a break to eat food from the picnic basket Sherlock had thoughtfully packed. Emma dragged Sherlock back up and wound her arms around his back, holding his shoulders, and resting her head on his chest. Sherlock rested his chin on the top of her head, and they danced again.

The two were so comfortable with each other, and Emma was storing away minute information to go over later. The warmth of Sherlock's body, and the way it felt so close to hers. His tobacco and leather smell, the way his back felt powerful under her fingertips. He had soft, strong hands, and pianist's fingers.

As they swayed together under the bright moonlight, Emma pulled back to see him. His beautiful eyes, a startling shade of ice blue tonight, seemed to call to her. She had to tell him; he had to know how she felt. Because even though she had kept up her friendship for the past five months, it was killing her, not being able to love him.

"Sherlock, I have to tell you something."

"What is it?" He said seriously, at the tone of her voice.

"Tonight was wonderful; I had an amazing time, and this is so much better than prom would have been." She paused to gather her courage for what she was about to say. "I love you."

Sherlock smiled. "I love you too."

Emma shook her head and stopped. Sherlock placed a hand on her waist, wondering what was wrong.

"I know that we're friends, and that's what you mean. But I love you."

And in the way she said it, Sherlock understood. She was not talking about just friendly feelings, she meant it. And part of Sherlock wanted to crush her to him and never let go, because someone _loved _him. But that someone was his best friend. And he did not feel the same way.

"Emmaline – I –" He struggled for words, backing up.

"I know. I know; I just needed you to know how I felt."

"I'm so sorry; I—I just want to be friends."

Emma smiled sadly and nodded her head, tears threatening to spill forth. "I know; just friends."

Sherlock stood there, in that empty parking lot, where things had gone so terribly wrong. He had given her the wrong idea, and now there was no taking it back. How were they supposed to move forward from this? They could not.

"You—you can still live, with me, you know." He said awkwardly.

"Gee, thanks." Emma said wryly, walking around to her side of the car.

"Hey, you're the one who said it." Sherlock pointed out.

"After five months! Five months Sherlock, of pining after you and hoping that you would see me the same way. I know that you won't, that you can't, but I needed you to know because it was killing me, feeling for you this way and having you in the dark."

"Emmaline, I—" Sherlock was at a loss for words, and he did not need his deductive skills to see how she was feeling.

"Just – do something for me Sherlock. Look at how you feel; can you do that?" Emma asked, before getting into the front seat of the car. Sherlock got into the driver's seat and started the car, the beginning of a long and tense drive home.

ᶓ

That night, Sherlock did as he was asked. He lay down in bed and closed his eyes, thinking about how he felt, which was not easy for him to do. He searched his mind palace, which was the closest thing he had to holding sentiment anywhere within him; he kept all relevant information there.

And as he searched for mentions of Emmaline, he caught snippets of information: she hated tea, she dressed uniquely, she was lonely, she was independent, she had a great smile. Sherlock frowned at the last thought. She had pouty lips, and bedroom eyes that were a clear shade of brown; before her grandparents had died, and she had lost weight, Sherlock had thought her to be pleasantly curvaceous.

All these thoughts and plenty more, flitted through his mind. However, they did not help him think of how he felt. He went to Henry, and how upset Emmaline had been when they had broken up; she had looked worse, and more devastated, tonight.

Sherlock's jealous feelings came to mind; he had been jealous of Henry, and did that not lead one to believe he held deeper feelings for her? Emma's confession was only serving to make him more confused.

His thoughts turned back to Emmaline and how he may or may not feel about her. This was his best friend, his seventeen year old best friend who was living with him, and who had confessed her attraction to him an hour ago.

If they had been at University together, Sherlock would not have hesitated after her confession. He would have taken her in his arms and never let go. But he had been burned by women before, and even though Emma was different, he did not want to hurt her.

She was beautiful he could not deny that. When he had first met her on that plane, his heart had stopped and picked up double-time. Every time she came over, Sherlock caught himself staring at her, wondering at the fact that she wanted to spend her time with him.

Sherlock rolled over and tried to get some sleep; he wondered what Emmaline was feeling, sleeping out on that couch. He wondered if he had made her cry. He did not want to be the cause of her tears, or her pain, but Sherlock was unsure of how he felt, and she was getting him confused.

Sherlock closed his eyes, trying to force himself to dream of something to put him asleep. All that came to mind were Emmaline's full pink lips and how he wanted to brush his thumb across her full bottom lip before making her mouth swollen with his kisses. Sherlock groaned and rolled over onto his stomach, shoving his face into his pillows.

ᶓ

It had been three days since Emmaline had told Sherlock she loved him. Tensions were high and Emma was stressed. She had no idea if Sherlock had taken her advice to be introspective because he was avoiding her.

At the end of a very long and stressful day, Emma pulled out her easel and her paints and sat down in front of the window to paint, to ease her mind. Sherlock saw from the kitchen, and walked out into the main room.

"Can we draw a truce?" He asked.

"I don't know; what do you suggest?" She said haughtily.

"We could paint." He proposed.

Emma cocked a brow. Sherlock had never before offered to paint with her, something he did not like. If he was seriously asking to paint with her, than he truly felt bad about turning her down on Friday.

"Alright."

Emma set up a towel, for excess dripping paint, and two canvases on the floor. She put down brushes near her canvas, while he tended the fire and made it toasty.

"Ready to paint?" Emmaline asked.

She and Sherlock were sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, each with a blank canvas in front of them, forgoing the easel.

"I don't know what to paint." He told her.

"Neither do I. Just close your eyes, dip your fingers in a color, and go." She urged him.

Emmaline picked up a brush and dipped it in the red paint, starting on her own canvas. Sherlock stared at his own for minutes, thinking. Things had been slightly awkward between the two of them, ever since Emmaline had told him she loved him, and this was his way of trying to form an awkward truce.

Sherlock had no idea what to do with her confession. Emmaline was his best friend, his only friend. And this love, as she called it, could only hurt that. Sherlock did not want to do anything to upset her, but being around him clearly hurt. Whenever she thought he could not see, she looked sad.

Some of this was obviously because of the death of her grandparents, but how much of it was because of Sherlock? She had asked him to examine his own feelings, and he had tried. But he did not know what she wanted, or what she expected of him. Sherlock was not used to being introspective, nor was he used to searching for sentiment within himself.

Using these thoughts, Sherlock dipped his fingers in a random color of paint and began moving them across the canvas. He opened his eyes to see what he was doing. Sherlock had drawn a yellow heart. He cocked his head at the curious design. He had thought he was drawing a triangle.

Emmaline saw Sherlock examining his canvas.

"What's the matter?" She asked.

"Nothing…I think."

Emma smiled and turned back to her own canvas. She was busy painting a red sky. She added little touches of clouds and depth, even an orange sun for contrast. When she looked over to see how Sherlock was doing, he was still staring at his canvas.

"What are you trying to paint?" She asked.

"A triangle." He answered quietly, still contemplating.

"Do you require some assistance?" She asked, in a mimicking English tone of voice.

Sherlock turned his head to look at her, a soft smile on his lips. Emma's breath faltered as the beautiful Cupid's bow came into view. She knew it was wrong, and that she should not feel this way about Sherlock…but she could not help it. She was in love with him.

He saw the color rise in her cheeks and the way her breathing had hitched. _Perhaps it was a mistake, telling her she could still stay here, _Sherlock wondered. His brother Mycroft would no doubt think so.

"Yes." He answered.

Sherlock started in surprise. He had not even formed a coherent answer, yet here one was, already formed and spoken on his lips.

Emmaline smiled and Sherlock's heart began to race.

"Do you want it in yellow still?"

"Yes." Sherlock answered lamely. Apparently, he was no longer capable of answers consisting of more than one word.

"Well dip your fingers in the yellow again." Emma instructed.

Sherlock did as he was told, and held his dripping fingers over the towel on the floor. Emmaline reached over and grabbed his hand gently in hers, guiding it over the canvas. A thrill went through her at the feeling of his soft skin. She had held his hand before, but not, since she had told him. She had distanced herself from him after she had noticed how much she liked him; moving in with him had not helped her situation, and she had told him what she had promised herself she would never share.

Sherlock felt an equally enjoyable jolt of sensation at her familiar touch. He did not have time to envisage what it meant however. Her hand touched his fingers down to the canvas and began to work it up and down, in the broad strokes of a triangle.

He however, was watching her. The way the firelight danced across her olive skin and made it alight, as if she were on fire. Her silky brown hair, and how it fell over her shoulders in soft waves tonight. Down her straight nose to her high cheekbones, still flushed with the earlier sight of his inviting mouth. Then to her full pink lips, slightly parted in concentration. How many times had Sherlock imagined running his thumb over those lips, to see if they were as soft as they looked? Every night for three days he had dreamed of those lips.

His gaze continued downwards to her strong shoulders, and her arched back. The soft feeling of her hand on his alighted a curious feeling in him, one that he had never felt before. _Is this love? _He asked himself. Sherlock thought of the two years they had known each other and all they had been through, all they had told each other. Everything they had done together, because she was his best friend.

But he could not stop his eyes from roaming ever downward past her shorts to the backs of her thighs, thinner than they had been two months ago, but still full and beautiful, and even down to her bare feet, that were themselves clean and soft looking. Every inch of her was open to his gaze and he looked; she was beautiful.

All of this he observed in the time it took Emmaline to paint his triangle. So when she let go of his hand, he looked up, and she saw that his cheeks burned.

"Sherlock?" She stared curiously at the man that she knew, but who, right now, looked very different. There was a look in his eye that she had never seen there before.

"Shh." He whispered, inching closer to her.

Emmaline's heart picked up a drumming rhythm. For so long she had wanted Sherlock to look at her like this, to come closer, to _kiss _her. But what if it ruined everything? Now that it was here, was it what she wanted? She felt the butterflies in her stomach, anticipation making her nervous.

He scooted himself close enough so that he was sitting right in front of her, so close she could smell his aftershave. Sherlock was frightened. He had no idea what he was doing, only that a different part of him was ruling right now. His _heart. _He wanted to feel those soft lips with his own, wanted them to part under his lips. He did not want to ruin their friendship, but he felt that this was something he had to do. He was drawn to her like oxygen to hydrogen.

Gently, carefully, Sherlock reached forward with his unpainted hand and touched Emmaline's cheek. She closed her eyes and sighed at the touch. Sherlock's hand wound up, brushing into her hair until it cupped the back of her neck. His other hand rested on her other cheek. He brushed the thumb across her cheekbone, leaving a smear of yellow paint behind.

"Sherlock…" she whispered.

Emmaline could not take much more of this teasing. She was burning inside, and she needed Sherlock's kiss as a man dying of dehydration needed water. Sherlock heard her whispered plea, the desperation in her tone. And it drove him insane, knowing that _he _was doing that to her; knowing that _he_ was the cause of her want, and not some secondary school boy. It caused a fire to rise in his chest, and warmth to envelop him.

Sherlock leaned his head forward slowly, testing the waters. If Emmaline wanted to pull away and end it, now would be the time to do it. However, she sat there, staring as Sherlock's eyes closed and he came closer. Every fiber of her being was yelling at her to reach forward and grab him, pulling him closer, faster. But she wanted Sherlock to do this. She wanted _Sherlock _to kiss _her. _

He leaned forward dreadfully slowly, until finally, she closed her eyes and was rewarded with the soft, sweet feel, of what she had been fantasizing about for months.

Sherlock pressed his lips against hers firmly, leaving them there for a few seconds, before pulling away. Emmaline slowly opened her eyes, to see why Sherlock had stopped.

His face was still inches from hers, and his eyes glowed in the firelight. She reached her arms forward to wind around his neck, and she pulled herself flush against him. Sherlock gasped in surprise. She kissed his chin, once, twice, causing him to moan in delight.

"Emmaline," he whispered, before trapping her mouth with his once again.

Her fingers wound their way into his dark curls as his hands pressed against the small of her back, keeping her against him. It was everything Emmaline had hoped it would be, and so much more. Sherlock's warmth enveloped her and the heat radiated out from her fingertips to her toes.

This was so much better than Henry's kisses. Emma had no doubt that Sherlock had practiced kissing on girls at University; no one could be this good naturally. The curve of his mouth under hers made her moan; it was just as wonderful as she had dreamed, and so much better. This was flesh – this was _him. _Her Sherlock, and no one else could ever have him.

Sherlock's lips moved more fervently at the audible sound of Emmaline's pleasure. One of his hands again moved to cup her neck, keeping her there, against him.

It was so much better than he could have imagined, if he had. Sherlock had never entertained the notion of Emmaline being more than a friend, more than the only light in his life. But now that he had crossed this line, there was no going back. There was no way he could imagine going back to just holding hands, or cuddling on the sofa. Sherlock needed _this _as well. He wanted to be the owner of her loving glances, and stolen midnight kisses.

He crushed her to him, holding her against him, never wanting to let her go. This was where she belonged, next to him, where he could feel the warmth of her was so close to him, and he could feel her erratic heartbeat under her rib cage. He smiled, pressing his lips against hers once, twice; they were so close, he _could _feel her heart beating against his chest.

Her birthday was in just a few short days…at the thought of her birthday Sherlock pulled back. Emmaline sat in his lap, breathing heavily with lids half closed.

"Your birthday." Sherlock's voice was husky.

"What about it?" Emma asked, fully opening her eyes.

"You're not eighteen yet." Sherlock pointed out.

And as soon as he had, he felt wrong. In a few days she would eighteen, and he had just turned _twenty-six _a few months before.

"This is wrong." He whispered.

Emma frowned as she saw clarity blooming in Sherlock's gaze.

"Don't say that." Emma pleaded.

"I'm eight years older than you. I'm an adult, you're just getting started." Sherlock looked away, staring into the fire.

"Sherlock don't say that. I made up my mind a long time ago about what I wanted." She gripped his chin, making him look at her. "About _whom _I want. And I don't care about the age." She whispered, bringing her mouth closer to his.

"Emmaline, I can't do this to you." Sherlock insisted.

"You can't make me happy?" She asked, pulling back to look him in the eye.

He found steely determination written there. Sherlock laughed without humor and looked down. Emma's hands were holding his in her lap, and he could not help but notice how well they fit together. Every part of Sherlock knew this was wrong, and that society would frown upon it. Mummy had instilled in him and Mycroft the importance of society.

However, looking in Emmaline's brown bedroom eyes he saw everything he needed. He saw her love for him, and love was a powerful thing. Sherlock loved her. He cupped her cheek and leaned forward to kiss the tip of her nose.

"I really make you happy?" He asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"Happier than anything." She whispered back.

Something bloomed in Sherlock and he smiled, feeling his love encompass him totally. He nudged her face with his cheek and captured her mouth gently with his, tasting the sweet lips under his. She let him tease as he moved his lips to the corner of her mouth, laying soft kisses there before moving back to her lips.

He was careful, not wanting to go to deep. He wanted this kiss to mean something; he wanted it to tell her something. He pulled back slowly, letting his lips linger a moment longer on hers.

Sherlock rested his temple on hers, smiling softly, and breathing deeply. Emmaline caught him in another chaste kiss before he pulled his head away.

"I love you." He whispered.

"I love you too." She whispered back, elated.

"So you really don't care, about our ages?" He asked again, wanting to be sure.

"I don't care." She reiterated.

"Good."

Sherlock extricated her from his lap and turned back to his canvas. Emma smiled and picked her brush back up. In a few days, she would be eighteen, and she could do whatever she wanted to Sherlock. The thought brought a grin to her face, that she hid by leaning over her canvas, her hair creating a curtain.

The pair continued painting late into the night and when it came time for bed, they said goodnight in their usual way. Once Emma was situated on the couch, Sherlock came out from his room and stepped in front of the sofa.

He leaned over and brushed her hair behind her ear, kissing her chastely.

"Goodnight." He whispered against her mouth.

Sherlock walked back to his bedroom, without another word.

"Goodnight." She called, once he got to his room.

Sherlock smiled and closed the door.


	29. Chapter 29: Our First Date

Chapter 29: Our First Date

Emma sat on the edge of the couch, knees bouncing up and down. Sherlock was in the bedroom getting ready, for their first official date. She had celebrated her eighteenth birthday three days before, and this was her present. Sherlock had promised that they would try dating, even though he was still uncomfortable about their age difference.

She understood where he was coming from, but she also thought he was being silly. Emmaline was old enough to make her own decisions. That kiss, the kiss they had shared just days ago, had been wonderful. Emmaline's cheeks flushed as she thought of it.

It had been their first, and so far their last. Sherlock had been very polite with her, giving her coy glances and small smiles when he thought she could not see. But he had told her no more kissing until she was of age, and she had begrudgingly agreed.

Sherlock's bedroom door opened and he stepped out, adjusting his cuff links.

"Should I whistle?" Emma asked, trying to crack a joke.

Sherlock's cheeks turned a light pink as he shook his head, his curls flopping.

"No – no need." He tried to say sounding casual.

They were both nervous; ever since their kiss, they had been awkward around each other. Sherlock had distanced himself, and Emmaline had been trying to get another kiss. The truth of the matter was, they both wanted this to work, simply because they wanted the other in their life. If this failed, could they still be friends? Sherlock knew that he could never go back to being just friends with Emmaline, he wanted this to work. He had much more to see of her; he was not done yet.

"So where are we going?" Emma asked, grabbing her purse.

"Dinner and a movie." Sherlock said, shrugging.

Emma smiled. It was their usual weekend evening, but in this context, it had become something completely different. Even though Sherlock was acting nonchalant about their evening, inside he was a raging storm of nervousness. He wanted the date to go well, and he wanted to make her happy.

"Oh, just one thing before we go." Emma said.

Sherlock turned around to face her. "What?"

Emmaline stood up on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around Sherlock's neck, and she drew him into a gentle, lingering kiss. Her soft mouth pressed against his caused Sherlock's nerves to ignite with the most delightful sensation. She pulled back and smiled.

"Just wanted to get that out of the way." She explained.

"Good – good." Sherlock mumbled his hands on her waist.

"Did you still want to go to dinner?" She asked playfully.

"Don't tempt me right now." He whispered in her ear warningly.

Emma blushed, his tone sending chills through her, and extricated herself from his hold, taking his hand as they stepped down to the street.

"So we're treating this as the same, friends, but with kissing?" Sherlock asked to clarify.

"Yeah." Emmaline shrugged. "I don't see why not; we already have a great relationship."

Sherlock smiled as they stepped into the restaurant. "We do."

They sat down at their usual table, glad to have this weight lifted off their chest. Both of them had worried how dating would affect their relationship, and really how to carry on. In the heat of the moment, the kiss had not been quite a big deal. The next morning at breakfast however, had been uncomfortable.

Now that they knew how to continue, both were much more comfortable with each other. They talked, and laughed, and enjoyed each other's company just as much as they always had, but now both had a little more on their minds.

"How's your pasta?" Emma asked.

"Good; how are the fish and chips?"

Emma smiled. "Same as ever."

Sherlock chuckled, taking another bite. "I wanted to ask you something; I just never really found the right time, I guess, what with your grandparents."

Emma bristled at the reminder; she was slightly ashamed that she could be so happy so shortly after her grandparent's death, but Sherlock made her smile.

"What is it?"

"Was that your first time dating, here in London?" Sherlock asked carefully.

"Are you asking if Henry was my first boyfriend?" At Sherlock's assent, Emma laughed. "He was my first serious boyfriend; I didn't start dating until I moved here."

"Why?"

"Because I met someone who made me feel OK for being me; I was self-confident for the first time after I met you."

"So, what you're saying is I allowed Henry into your life?"

"I suppose, in a way." Emma smiled at Sherlock's scowl.

She knew he hated Henry, from the way he had treated him at Halloween, and she liked to think that there was a small part of him that had been jealous.

"So – umm – how far did you two…?" Sherlock asked, blushing scarlet, leaving the question hanging in the air.

Emma's cheeks turned pink. "Are you seriously asking me how far Henry and I got?"

"Well I – just want to know – for reference." Sherlock mumbled, turning an even darker shade of red.

Emma laughed, shaking her head. "Sure". She took a bite of her fish. "Nothing underneath the shirt."

Sherlock choked on a bite of his pasta, beating on his chest to dislodge it. He looked across the table at a giggling Emmaline.

"Are you serious?" He asked, after taking a huge gulp of water.

"We were together for six months." Emma reminded Sherlock gently.

"Yeah but – that escalated quickly."

"Not really." Emma said, staring at Sherlock.

Sherlock thought back on his past dating experience. He had dated three girls in his two years at University. One for a month, another for three weeks, and the last for eight months. As Sherlock thought of his last relationship, and not how badly she had burned him, things had escalated quickly between them. So he could forgive Emmaline as a friend, but as her boyfriend, hearing how far she had gone with her ex, was painful.

However, she had no idea he had ever been in a relationship with a female. He assumed of course, that she guessed. But he had never outright said he had dated in University.

"No, I suppose not." He amended.

"What were you thinking about?"

"What?"

"You had your thinking face on." She accused.

Sherlock smiled. "I was thinking of an ex of mine – Rachel."

"_An ex? _Meaning you had more than one?" Emma asked, shocked.

"Three, actually."

"Wow, you go." Emma said.

It was strange to think Sherlock had dated before, but of course, he would have. He was male after all; and attractive.

"Denise, Deborah, and Rachel."

"And how is that relevant?" Emma asked carefully.

"Rachel and I were together for eight months – and you are right, things took a natural course. They moved at quite a fast pace, but a naturally fast pace." Sherlock tried to explain.

"So, how far did you two get?" Emma asked.

It was Sherlock's turn to blush. He took a sip of his water, trying to wet his now dry throat.

"Uhh – why?" Sherlock asked, trying to avoid the question.

"You slept with her, didn't you?" Emma asked, grinning.

Sherlock's cheeks turned darker pink.

"How soon?" Emma questioned.

"About – a month after we got together, I suppose." Sherlock answered.

Emma smiled; as a friend, she was excited to be learning more about Sherlock and his past. As his girlfriend, she wanted to find Rachel and rip her hair out.

"Ready to go to the film?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah."

They were both ready to move to a venue where talking was discouraged; Sherlock was upset by learning how far she had gone with Henry, though a part of him had jumped for joy to learn that she was still a virgin.

Emma was not surprised that Sherlock had had sex, though slightly upset that he had. They walked hand in hand outside, and to the cinema down the street.

ᶓ

"Hey, I am going to go take a shower." Sherlock said when they walked in the door.

"Alright." Emma threw her purse onto the couch.

"Hey." Sherlock kissed the side of her head before walking towards the bathroom.

Emma groaned in frustration once the door was closed behind him. Their date had gone well; dinner had been a bit awkward, what with all the conversation about their ex's, but the movie had been nice. Afterwards they had walked home talking and laughing, having a wonderful time.

Emmaline had been expecting a kiss of some sort once they got home, not what she had gotten. It was almost as if she had been friend-zoned once again. She huffed and walked into the bedroom, changing into her pajamas. It was her turn to sleep in the bed, but she had left her phone and charger out by the sofa.

She walked out to get them, and stopped short. Sherlock was toweling off his wet hair, standing in nothing but flannel pajama pants in front of the couch. Short rivulets of water worked their way down his back, and he reached with the towel to get them, the sinewy muscle in his arms flexing.

Emma took in a deep, short breath as she stood watching. _Oh my god, _she thought. Finally, she cleared her throat. Sherlock turned, surprised to see her.

"I thought it was my turn for the couch?" He asked.

"It is – I just—umm—forgot my phone…" Emma said, pointing at the end table.

"Oh, here." Sherlock picked up her phone and held it out to her.

Emma took a cautious step forward and took the phone from his outstretched hand. Their fingers brushed and Emma gasped at the electric feeling that passed between them, and that jolted to her core. Sherlock reached a hand forward to grasp her free hand.

"I had a nice time tonight; I don't think I told you that." He whispered.

"Sherlock…" Emma swallowed the lump in her throat, keeping her gaze locked on his.

The temperature in the room had seemed to rise, even though Emma was shivering. The hand that Sherlock held felt like it was on fire, and her belly was a ball of nervous energy. Sherlock brushed a lock of hair behind Emmaline's ear, leaning down.

He was being too slow for her; she dropped her phone and brought her hands up around his neck, straining to stand straighter to reach his mouth. Sherlock moaned deep in his throat and gripped either side of her waist, pulling her against him, needing to feel her. She was a goddess, and he had been denying himself the pleasure of feeling her for too long.

Emma gasped at his forcefulness; usually Sherlock was so gentle. However, she was not bothered by it; in fact, she found it exciting. Emma brought her hands down, running them over the strong sinewy arms she had glimpsed earlier. There was something about his body that spoke to her. Sherlock was in no way muscled or strong; he was lean and corded, just what worked for him. She found it extremely attractive as she ran her fingers over his back, feeling it tense under her roaming fingers.

Her mouth moved to kiss his chin, his throat, and his shoulder. Sherlock groaned and sucked on her collarbone, leaving a bright red mark there. He needed to leave a mark to tell the Sherlock of tomorrow morning that his had happened, that he had experienced this with her. Part of him thought this was a dream, it was so perfect.

At the new sensation on her skin, Emma shivered. His mouth was so soft on her skin, sending shivers up her spine and coaxing the fire in her belly. Emmaline captured his mouth with hers again, needing to feel his passionate kisses. Sherlock brought his tongue to flick playfully against her closed mouth; she sighed in bliss and allowed it entrance as it gracefully danced with her own tongue.

Sherlock ran his hands up and down on her waist, feeling her newly regenerated curved. Her body was driving him insane, he could feel it. He brushed his thumbs across her exposed hipbones, smiling when she shivered and pressed against him. The bottom of her shirt hiked up more, and he brought his hand to rest on the exposed flesh of her belly.

Emma gasped at the warmth of his hand and dug her fingers into his wet hair, pressing his mouth harder against hers. Sherlock felt so _right, _that there was no denying she wanted him. She could feel the electric pulses in her belly firing off to other areas of her body, and she could tell he wanted her.

Sherlock gasped for breath as he moved his face to bury it in her hair, inhaling that innocent orange scent. It took him back to when he had first fell asleep on her couch, and she had woken him up the next morning accidentally by smelling him. Sherlock smiled at the memory, kissing his way down her delicate jawline.

Emma's fingers traced their way down Sherlock's chest, marveling again, at how strong he really was. She smiled when his belly went taut at the sensation her roaming fingers caused.

"You'll be the death of me." Sherlock whispered in her ear.

She had no time to reply before his mouth was on hers again, with a burning need. Emmaline reciprocated the feeling, crushing him to her, needing to feel him closer. Sherlock's hand worked over her belly, up her rib cage, making her giggle, and to the bottom of her bra. Emma froze as his hot thumb brushed across the bare flesh there. Her hand gripped the back of his neck harder as she bit her lip.

"Too fast?" Sherlock asked, pulling back to rest his forehead on hers.

Emma nodded her assent. "A little; I'm sorry."

Sherlock placed a quick peck on her lips before pulling away from her. "Don't be sorry; I went too far."

Sherlock stepped over to the couch and fixed his blanket.

"It doesn't bother you then, that I'm not ready?" Emma asked, sitting down next to Sherlock.

"Should it? If you're not ready, you're not ready." Sherlock shrugged. "I'm not going to pressure you."

"Thanks." Emma rested her head on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Did Henry pressure you?" Sherlock asked seriously.

"A little." Emmaline said, threading their fingers. "The last month we were together, he really wanted to have sex and I didn't want to. I started sending more time with you because I was trying to avoid him, and he called me out on it. He told me he had cheated on me and decided to date Amelia. When I got back to school, I found out that he had started calling me the Ice-Queen and that with Amelia, he had slept with her at a party."

"I'm sorry darling."

"I love it when you call me that." Emma whispered, fighting her exhaustion.

Sherlock laughed, pressing his lips against her cheek. "Go to bed." He urged.

"See you in the morning." She leaned over and planted a quick kiss on his mouth.

"Good night love." He whispered against her lips.

"Good night."

Emmaline bent over to pick up her dropped phone, and ten minutes later fell asleep in Sherlock's bed, holding the pillow like it was him, and they could fall asleep together.


	30. Chapter 30: Graduated

Chapter 30: Graduated

"Hey Bianca!" Emma said cordially, answering her phone.

"Emma! You weren't at graduation, we missed you!" Her friend said.

Emma frowned. "I just didn't feel the need to walk, with no one there to see me."

"I would have gone!" Sherlock yelled from the kitchen.

"Who was that?" Bianca asked, suddenly interested. "Was that a boy?"

Emma sighed. "That's my boyfriend." She confirmed.

It felt strange to be finally referring to Sherlock as her boyfriend; he had been her friend for two years, and taking that next step still seemed like a dream.

"Oh, well he can come too!" Bianca invited. "You are coming to my grad party tonight right? You got your invitation?"

Emma glanced at the large stack of unopened invitations on Sherlock's desk.

"Yeah I did – sorry about not replying, I've been kind of busy with – stuff."

"That's OK! Just remember to be there at 6.00!"

"OK, we will." Emma smiled.

"Alright, see you there!"

Emma sighed and hung up; she would have to sift through the invitations to figure out which one was from Bianca, and where her party was.

"Sherlock, we just got invited to a graduation party tonight."

"Do you want to go?" Sherlock asked, walking out of the kitchen with a slice of banana bread.

He handed it to Emmaline and plopped down onto the sofa next to her.

"I'm not working tonight so I don't care. How long has it been since you have eaten?" Emma asked, eyeing the slight bruising under Sherlock's eyes. It seemed that he had not slept for a few days either.

"Today is Saturday so…Thursday evening?" Sherlock thought.

"Sherlock! Go and warm up some of the leftover ham."

"I can't – Lestrade has just given me a murder case."

"And what is it on the scale?" Emma asked, taking a bite.

Sherlock huffed. "A five."

"Ham, now." She ordered.

He sighed but got up and did as he was told.

"So when is this party?" Sherlock asked.

"6.00."

Sherlock glanced over at the clock; it was already 4.00.

"And you told her we were going?"

"I might have." Emmaline admitted.

Sherlock rolled his eyes; of course, Emmaline would have asked his permission _after _she had promised their attendance. It would be good for her, he thought, to hang out with people her own age. She had not gone to graduation, and had no plans on having a party. Hanging out with her other friends would be good for her. Also, he was looking forward to being out with her and _meeting _her friends. He had never met any of them, except Henry.

At the thought of Henry, Sherlock smiled. He would get to rub it in the little brat's face that Sherlock had her, and that he had missed out. Nothing would bring him greater joy.

"What are you supposed to wear to a grad party?"

"What you have on is fine." Emma answered, flipping through a magazine.

"I'm wearing sweatpants." Sherlock deadpanned.

Emmaline rolled her eyes. "Sherlock, these are eighteen and nineteen year olds. They do not care how you dress."

"Do you want to introduce your boyfriend as a slob?" He asked seriously.

Emma considered for a moment. "Well, no." She answered finally. "Just wear what you normally wear; that will look fine."

"Alright." Sherlock agreed.

Emma smiled; the way Sherlock normally dressed was how someone going to work at a high-end office would dress. Button-down shirts and black jackets were all he wore now. When she had first met him that was an occasional occurrence. Back then, he had worn jeans and button-downs, or jeans and long sleeve shirts. Occasionally she would find a plaid shirt in the back of his closet and make him wear it, for fun.

It seemed that he had matured in the last two years, and his wardrobe had with him.

"What should I wear?" Emma asked, inviting Sherlock to sit next to her.

"Are you really asking me that question?" Sherlock asked.

"No." Emma smiled and pressed her lips against his chastely.

"Good; I would have no idea." He said honestly, pressing his mouth more firmly against hers.

"I have to go get ready." She kissed him one more time, standing from the couch.

His arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her back down onto the couch, practically in his lap.

"One more kiss." He told her.

She reached up to press her hand against the back of his head, melding her lips with his.

"One more?" He asked, whispering it against her mouth.

"How many do you need?" She asked, obliging.

"I cannot have just one." He replied, kissing her again, more firmly.

Emma sighed, feeling herself sink into his grip.

"As nice as this is, I really do have to get ready." She said between fervent kisses.

"Alright." Sherlock flicked his tongue against her closed lips before releasing his hold on her waist.

"That is so not fair." She said, getting up. His teasing kiss had made her want more, and he knew it.

Sherlock smiled. "I don't play fair."

Emmaline stood there a moment, indecision playing across her mind, before she shook her head and turned on her heel.

"I have a party to get ready for." She said firmly.

Sherlock laughed from his spot on the couch. He stood up and stretched, thankful that his sweatpants were loose, before walking into the bedroom to retrieve his clothes.

ᶓ

"Her parents really went all out." Emma said as they pulled up to Bianca's house.

Bianca lived in a two-story house on the edge of Westminster, with a large green lawn and a wrought iron fence surrounding the property. Red and green strobe lights sat at intervals along the gravel drive, welcoming guests to the party. From the drive, Emmaline and Sherlock could hear loud, raucous music being played.

Streamers hung from the front door, welcoming new entrants to the party. Emma brushed them to the side as Sherlock led her into the noisy house. Inside, the lights were dimmed and some bulbs had been replaced to create a cool blue light, shadowing the dancers.

The front room occupied a large DJ and people were dancing wherever they pleased to the music he played. In the kitchen, snacks were being served as well as champagne to celebrate the recent secondary school graduate. Sherlock said no to the offer of alcohol, and so did Emmaline. It was part of his 'recovering addict' program that he not accept any addictive substances, one of which was alcohol.

Further into the house, they found a pool table that some people were standing around, watching the current game. There were other people sitting on a large leather sofa, chatting about University plans; one of these people was Bianca, and she waved Emmaline over.

"Emma!" Bianca ran over and threw her arms around the slighter girl.

"Bianca, this party is great!"

"Thanks! My parents put it all together, they are so proud I graduated!"

"Where are you going to University?" Emma asked.

"Oh I'm not – straight off to work as an intern. I am not cut out for college. How about you?"

"I got accepted to Cambridge, and I just accepted their offer the other day."

"Good for you!" Bianca hugged Emmaline again. "And who is this?" She asked, her eyes for the first time turning to see Sherlock.

The time the two young women had spent conversing, Sherlock had stood there silently awkward, waiting for Emmaline to introduce him. The idea of being back in a setting with younger people was putting Sherlock off his game. It felt too much like a University party to him, and he half expected to turn around and see Bradley pointing and laughing him.

"This is the boyfriend I was telling you about on the phone – this is Sherlock, and Sherlock this is Bianca." Emma introduced them.

"Pleasure." Sherlock said in what he hoped was a genuine manner, leaning forward to kiss her once on each cheek.

"Pleasure's all mine; honestly, Emma moped about forever after Henry left her. Me and the other girls thought she would never find somebody else, she was so miserable." Bianca said brightly.

This was new information to Sherlock; as far as he was aware, Emmaline had gotten over Henry quite quickly.

"How old are you? Are you a University student?"

Sherlock looked at Emmaline; he was not sure if she wanted him to disclose his real age or not. He did not want to do anything to embarrass her or cause her trouble. She gave a smile small and answered Bianca's question.

"Sherlock is twenty-six."

Bianca's jaw dropped. "Twenty-six?" She leaned in closer to Emmaline. "But that's so old!" She whispered loudly.

Sherlock shuffled his feet and looked down. Of course, he knew it was old, and he felt awful about it, but he loved her, and there was nothing he could do about their ages. Emmaline had said that it did not matter how old he was, she still wanted to be with him. He took that confidence and held to it, every time he thought that this was maybe slightly wrong.

"It is only eight years Bianca – and he is my boyfriend, not yours; it's really not any concern of yours." Emma shrugged.

Bianca stared at her friend for a few seconds before the dumbstruck expression left her face.

"Well, come meet Emma's other friends." Bianca showed them over to the couch where two other girls were sitting.

Sherlock was introduced to them as Emmaline's much older boyfriend, and invited to stay and chat with them.

"No thanks; there is an open sofa over there I think we will sit at." Emma declined their offer and led Sherlock over to another empty sofa. "I am really sorry about that – girls can be mean."

"Trust me, I know." Sherlock told her.

"I know." Emma threw a leg over his, resting her head on his shoulder.

"So, do you want to know some of your friends dirty little secrets?" Sherlock asked, his eyes trailing someone walking across the room.

"What? Can you ever not turn off your brain?"

"No. That boy right there is secretly engaged." He said pointing to a boy standing by the pool table.

"How do you know?" Emma asked, disbelieving.

"His girlfriend, whose hand he is holding, has a tan line around her left ring finger, indicating that she probably went on a recent vacation with friends and wore it; now that she's back in London, she has to take it off to keep it from her family, but a ring _was _there maybe two days ago."

"You are just so smart." Emma complimented.

Sherlock smiled and bristled with pride. He never got tired of showing off how intelligent he was, and he knew that Emmaline had no shortage of praise when he did so.

Over the next hour, people came and went through the party, Sherlock and Emmaline sat on their couch, talking, and occasionally Sherlock would tell her something interesting about someone she went to school with.

Emmaline stretched her legs out in front of her, trying to wake up her tired limbs. When she looked up from the floor, she saw Henry and Amelia walking over to the pool table.

"When did they get here?" She asked Sherlock.

"Roughly the same time I was distracting you with my interesting speech about the differences between ladies perfumes."

"Fifteen minutes ago?" Emma clarified.

"About, yes. Does it matter?"

"No, I was just wondering. Stacy had not told me he was invited."

"Well if it does not matter, then who cares?" Sherlock questioned.

"Sherlock, I am not upset that he is here, calm down." Emma smiled. "Are you jealous?"

The corners of Sherlock's lips tugged up into the beginnings of a smile. "Maybe a little."

"Well you have nothing to be jealous of; I am done with him. Besides, I have found someone much better."

"Oh, who?" Sherlock asked playfully.

Emmaline giggled and leaned in to him, kissing the edge of his jaw. "He is pretty smart, but can be pretty dumb too. Tall, handsome – he has strong features. And his hair curls in this odd sort of way – kind of like yours."

"Dumb?" Sherlock inquired a bemused smirk on his face.

"You did not know that the Earth goes around the Sun."

"It is not important to my work." He said quietly, running his fingers through Emmaline's straight brown hair.

"No, but it is basic science. Honestly, what if you have to solve a case involving astronomy someday?"

"Nope, never will." Sherlock answered confidently.

"Mhm, right." Emma said, not convinced.

She gave Sherlock a quick peck on the lips and he smiled.

"Is that all?" He asked.

"You have an insatiable appetite for kisses today." She said laughing, giving him another quick kiss.

"What can I say? My girlfriend is a great kisser."

Sherlock melded his mouth with hers, causing her to groan and grab a fistful of his hair.

"You called me your girlfriend." She said, breaking away for air.

"You called me your boyfriend." He reminded her.

"Yeah but not to your face."

"It is still nice – hearing it."

Emma smiled. "It makes it sound all official."

"Did we never officially make it official?" He asked seriously.

"No I don't think so." Emma told him.

"Well then, gotta fix that. Will you, Emmaline Johnson, be my girlfriend?" He whispered in her ear, tickling it.

"Yes." She giggled and pressed her lips to his again.

"When do you want to go home?" He asked in between more kisses.

"Soon – I am not having any fun." Emma said.

"This is not fun?" He asked, drawing her up against him on the couch.

"_This _is, but the party – not so much."

"Alright, let's go then."

Sherlock got up from the couch, and after saying goodbye to their host, they left the party.

"I'm sorry you did not have a lot of fun." Emmaline said, walking through the door of their flat.

"On the contrary, I did have fun. Just maybe not the kind that you would have thought."

Emma rolled her eyes. "It's your turn for the bed tonight, so I am just going to change into my pajamas."

"Alright." Sherlock took off his coat and hung it up while Emmaline shut his bedroom door.

Tonight she had introduced him to some of her school friends, and they had accepted him. Maybe not as readily or as fully as she had hoped, but they had not made fun of him, and that was a step.

As she changed into her pajamas and thought about the party, she realized that the whole time had been spent talking to and kissing Sherlock. They could have stayed home to do that. However, Emmaline had realized one thing – the more time they spent with each other like this, the more comfortable she became around him.

The same electric feeling had still hit her, the same fire had still stoked her belly, but this time Emmaline had welcomed it. She had even wished for it to go a little further, if they had not been in public. As she finished getting changed and walked out to the couch, she spied Sherlock in the kitchen putting away dishes. As she admired his physique and thought of the few times they had started to get truly intimate, her toes curled in pleasure.

Emmaline smiled as she snuggled down onto the couch. Sherlock would not have to wait much longer – she was ready.

**A/N: So, just a warning, I will give another day to vote in the POLL on the author's page, and the results from that POLL will constitute whether that chapter is included in this book, or as a companion one-shot. **


	31. Chapter 31: A New Experience

Chapter 31: A New Experience

Emmaline sat perched at Sherlock's desk, looking over letters and papers she had received from Cambridge. It was mid-July and she had gone through all her new student orientation, registered for classes, and signed up for a dorm room. She would be leaving Sherlock all on his own at the beginning of September; though he had told her, he would drive up every weekend to see her.

Emmaline sat back and smiled at the thought of her boyfriend of almost two months. Best friends for two years and they had recently started dating. He made her happy, and she knew that she was lucky to have him. The only thing that bothered her about him was he had taken up the bad habit of smoking again. He had quit when forced into drug rehab by his older brother Mycroft, but had taken up the habit again shortly after she had started dating her now ex-boyfriend Henry. For almost a year she had been trying to dissuade him from the awful vice, but to no avail.

Sherlock had promised that he would quit, but had not done so yet. That was where he was, outside smoking. If he tried to come in and kiss her, she would make him go and brush his teeth first, as she always did. It annoyed Sherlock to no end, but Emmaline hated the taste of tobacco.

Emma made sure that all her papers were in order, and that she had the copy of her scholarship before putting the documents away in her file folder, and locking them in the filing cabinet that Sherlock had recently acquired for all of his important case documents. In the back, he had labeled a folder named "Emmaline," just for her papers.

She heard footsteps on the stairs outside the flat, and assumed Sherlock was coming up from smoking outside. When the door opened and he walked in, she smiled.

"When are you going to quit again?" Emma asked teasingly.

"Ha-ha." He deadpanned, kicking off his shoes. "I'm taking a shower."

"What's wrong?" Emmaline asked seriously.

"Lestrade has not called me in a week – I am getting restless, _waiting for a case!" _Sherlock threw his hands up in the air before slapping them against his thighs in frustration.

"I am sure he will call you soon baby." Emma reassured him.

Sherlock's lips tugged up at the corners at the new pet—name; he had often called her 'love' or 'darling', but she had never called him anything but 'Sherlock'.

"'Baby'?" He asked, cocking a brow.

"Do you not like it?" She asked with a coy smile.

Sherlock shook his head with a laugh. "No, I like it."

Emma laughed and stood up, walking across the room to wrap her arms around his waist.

"How about a kiss?" She asked, standing on tiptoe.

"I have not brushed my teeth yet." Sherlock told her.

"You are in a bad mood – I can make an exception."

Sherlock leaned down to press a quick kiss against her lips, smiling against them when she shivered. He pulled back and kissed her forehead.

The taste of tobacco had not been a good one, but Emmaline loved feeling Sherlock so close to her, and his upper lip drove her crazy. It was such a deep Cupid's bow that it felt pleasurable against her plump lips.

"I do have to take a shower." Sherlock told her, chuckling at her grip on his waist.

"Right, well, who's stopping you?" Emma asked, pulling away.

"No one, now." Sherlock teased, stepping into the bathroom.

Emmaline chuckled quietly to herself; when he wanted to be, Sherlock could be quite charming and witty. He just rarely ever chose to be; he preferred the cold, hard, logician around others. Around her, he was the Sherlock that she knew and loved.

It was Emmaline's turn to sleep on the couch, and from the sound of the running shower, she thought Sherlock might be busy a while. Therefore, she went into the bedroom to find herself a change of pajamas. She changed into her _Hello Kitty _shorts, and took off the grimy shirt she had worn that day.

She listened at the door of the bathroom to hear if the shower was still on; it was, so Emmaline decided to have a quick snack before finishing dressing. She often did it when Sherlock texted to say he would be gone overnight on a case; he was busy now, so what was the harm? If she were living in a dorm she would be able to walk around in her bra, and Sherlock was occupied now. She would just have to be quick with her snack.

Emmaline began rifling through the cabinets and fridge, looking for something quick to eat. In the back of the fridge, she found a slice of chocolate cake.

"Oh hell yeah." Emma whispered excitedly to herself, grabbing for the cake.

She moaned in delight as the first bite of the chocolate cake exploded over her taste buds. Bite after bite, the cake, and frosting and chocolate chips made her groan in appreciation. She licked a bit of frosting off her bottom lip, and polished off the slice of cake.

"What are you doing in here?" Sherlock asked, his head rounding the corner.

"Eating the last slice of cake." Emma told him, smacking her lips.

Sherlock watched from the doorway as she turned to put the plate in the sink, becoming consciously aware that she was just in shorts and her bra. He gazed at the flesh that was visible before him, her taut calves, her strong, full thighs, and then the beginning of her shorts, covering what little there was left to see.

The shorts stopped at her hips, again exposing that olive toned body to his observation. Her beautiful hourglass shape and curve, and her arched back as she leaned over the sink: Sherlock could see it all. As she moved her arms, washing the plate, he caught tiny glimpses of the black material covering her breasts.

Sherlock's skin seemed to swelter, and the water from his shower seemed to steam, as he got hotter, and hard. He cleared his throat, trying to keep it casual, but all he could think about was the sudden need to crush her body beneath his.

"Finished?" Sherlock asked, making sure his towel was still wrapped tightly.

"Yeah, all done." Emma turned around with a smile.

Sherlock groaned quietly to himself as she turned and he saw the little black bra, covering so little of the flesh there.

"Oh…" Emma seemed to remember what she was wearing and blushed, her cheeks and chest turning pink from embarrassment.

"Sorry; I'll just go put my shirt on." She glided past him in the doorway, her bare skin brushing his.

She stopped in the doorway, his hot skin causing tremors to rock her belly, and her breathing to deepen. Sherlock reached out and brushed his fingers along the length of her arm, smiling when she trembled at his touch. He brushed her hair off the back of her neck, kissing the skin there lightly, brushing his lips up and down.

"Oh Emmaline…" He whispered, planting feverish kisses along the length of her neck.

She brought her hand up to rest on his neck, keeping him there; Sherlock smiled against her collarbone, tracing his lips across it.

"Did you do it on purpose?" He asked. He wondered if she had forgotten a shirt on purpose to entice him.

"No but I should have." She told him, turning to face him.

At the sight of her flushed face, and her dilated pupils, Sherlock smiled. He had her, and she knew he did. He pulled her flush against him, this American girl who had changed his life in every way. The woman who, two years ago, he had thought of as inconsequential. Sherlock had been wrong; she was so important; she was everything.

Emma gasped as she _felt _Sherlock against her belly; all thoughts of pulling away left her mind however when his fingers ran their way up her back to play with the clasp of her bra. If he was going to do it, she wanted him to do it now.

Sherlock crushed his lips to hers, needing to feel her, needing her to understand that this moment was so important and _why. _He loved her, and he wanted to express that to her in every way possible. However, right now, something new was taking over Sherlock.

The two times he had ever been with anyone at University, a man had come forth to replace the logician that usually made up Sherlock's personality. As he undid the clasp of her black bra, and she reached up to remove the straps from her shoulders, all he could think was: _I want to be her first. _

She had told him that Henry had never come close to this, never gotten near where Sherlock was now. He wanted to own every part of her, to make her his. Sherlock flicked his tongue out against her plump lips, running it along the length of them, seeking an invitation. Her lips opened and his tongue began to explore her sweet and delicate mouth.

Emma was a willing, if fumbling participant. She had never gone this far with anyone before, and was not quite sure how to proceed. Her bra was gone, cast aside, but Sherlock for now was still interested in their kisses, which ignited a roaring fire in her belly.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing her English detective closer to her, allowing her tongue to twine with his. She wanted this; she just was not sure how to tell Sherlock it was OK. He seemed to be hanging back, holding off for some word of hers. With a lingering sigh, she broke their kiss.

Emmaline ran a thumb across Sherlock's swollen bottom lip; he growled and took the tip of her thumb into his mouth, sucking gently. Emma moaned in delight, running a hand up his stomach, feeling the tight tension held there. The fire was quickly consuming every part of her, and she _needed _him. Sherlock was the only thing that could quench the flame.

Yet he still held back; with a wet 'plop' he released her thumb. His hands roamed up from her hips, to her stomach, always awaiting her withdrawal. As much as he wanted her, he would stop if she told him too. This was something Sherlock had wanted since they had shared that first kiss by the firelight; to feel her writhing under him, to hear his name on her lips as she called out in that most passionate of ways. He wanted her, and he wanted her now. If she did not stop him, there would be no going back for him.

His thumbs finally reached that soft flesh they had been searching for, running across it gently. Emma quivered with pleasure, her hand on the back of his neck leaving marks from the force with which she held him; her mouth came within inches of his, blowing hot breath on his wet lips before retreating. As his thumb flicked across her hardening nipple, he held strongly to her. As waves of delightful sensation hit her belly, she gripped Sherlock's waist and dug her nails into his skin; instead of causing pain, it caused pleasure. He welcomed the new sensation as he gripped her nipple and pulled, causing her to moan.

"Emmaline," he whispered hotly in her ear, "I need you."

Hearing him say that was all she needed; she wanted him as well, and hearing him say it was joyous confirmation that they felt the same way. Emma no longer cared that she was new to this and felt like an idiot; she wanted this experience with Sherlock, badly.

In answer, she took his mouth forcefully under hers and bit his bottom lip, drawing it out with her teeth. Sherlock moaned and kissed her with feverish abandon. With strong hands, he grabbed her calves and hoisted Emma up against him, holding her there with arms around her back. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and her arms around his neck, kissing him with wild delight. There was no going back for them; it was this and nothing else.

Sherlock was sure that Emmaline felt she was fumbling, but to him it made her all the sexier. It was proof to him that he would be the first to enter her, and the first to hear her wild cries. He clutched his American goddess closer to him, feeling the heat emanating from her skin, and her hard buds rubbing against his chest, maximizing his own pleasure.

Sherlock moved into the bedroom, depositing her unceremoniously on the bed. He grabbed her wrists and held them above her head, keeping her there to his open eye. He smiled and placed his lips on the underside of her jaw, giving wet kisses.

"You are so beautiful." He said, biting her bottom lip, much the same way as she had done.

Emma squirmed under him, unable to stand much of the teasing.

"We'll get there." He promised.

He placed a gentle kiss on her throat, working his way down before glancing up quickly at Emmaline, a wicked gleam in his eye. He took her left breast in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the hard bud. Emma writhed under him, making Sherlock harder. He bit her nipple gently, causing Emma to cry out in pleasure and pain. She bit her bottom lip as he began to apply the same attention to her other breast.

Emma was not sure how much more she could handle; even this much short attention was causing her to become wetter and she needed to relieve the pain now. Only Sherlock could make it better, but he was insisting on taking his damn time.

Sherlock kissed each of her wet nipples before again kissing his way down her delicious body. Every sensation was heightened as she wriggled underneath him, trying to get her hands free. Sherlock smiled to himself as he kissed her taut belly, and grazed his teeth against the waistband of her Hello Kitty shorts. He wanted her just as much, if not more, but he knew that it was her first time; he wanted to make it as pleasurable for her as possible. Sherlock was not sure how much of that promise he would be able to fulfill, because he needed to be in her soon.

He released her hands as he gripped her shorts and tugged them down, pulling them off her ankles. He looked up at her as he heard the whimpering noises she made; she reached forward to grab him, pulling him down on top of her. She gripped his hair tightly, thrusting her tongue into his mouth. Emma kissed his face, his jaw, his throat, trying to treat him with the same affection.

Sherlock smiled against her swollen mouth, understanding what she was trying to do for him.

"This is all about you tonight love." He whispered against her hot mouth.

Sherlock pushed his hips down against hers, causing Emmaline to claw at his back, intensifying the burning pain between her legs. She forgot all about trying to please him, her attention again being brought sharply back to the pulsating need she felt.

"I can make it feel good." He promised, pushing down again; he knew she was able to feel him through the thin towel that was still hanging about his hips.

Emma nodded her head, drawing his mouth to hers again. It was all she wanted, to have him, to feel him. Sherlock grinned against her mouth, teasing his fingers down her thighs and up again, playing with the waistband of her underwear.

Emma lifted her hips up so he could easily remove them. He brought his mouth again to hers, hoping to distract her as his fingers again danced across her sensitive inner thighs. He found her sensitive nub and flicked it, pleased at the tremor of sensation that ran through her young body.

Before she had time to recover, he had plunged a finger into her wet depths, searching for another way to bring her further into the rapacious ways of pleasure. Her body had stilled at the intrusion, wondering what he was doing. Sherlock plunged another finger in, kissing her mouth as he did so.

"All part of the pleasure." He promised, moving them in and out, stoking the wild fire that burned in her.

Emmaline breathed in deeply as Sherlock caused her to grow wetter and needier, taking in the musky scent of the room for the first time. She ignored everything else as she felt the building wave inside her, caused by Sherlock's fingers moving in a fast and frantic rhythm. Just as she was close to falling over the cliff of her desire, he pulled his fingers out with a 'plop.'

Emma took in a shaky breath and looked down at Sherlock.

"Why?" She asked rather shakily.

"Shh." He whispered. "I promise, soon."

Then he did something which surprised Emmaline; he popped his fingers in his mouth and sucked them, smiling at her shocked expression. He crawled his way up her body, slowly, trailing his wet fingers up her inner thigh, but skipping where she so wanted to feel his touch.

He touched his tongue to her lips, begging them to open and let him in. She obeyed and he kissed her deeply, making her swollen lips sore. She moaned against his mouth at the new sensations, and tugged at the towel around his hips.

Sherlock held himself above her body, watching her determined expression as she worked away at the knot that held the towel on. Finally, she undid it and tossed the towel aside, that last article of clothing disappearing.

Emma reached down and raked her fingernails up the back of his leg, over his bum and his back, digging her fingernails deep into the flesh of his upper back.

"Please." She begged, kissing the corner of his mouth.

"It'll hurt." He warned.

Emmaline nodded her head; she understood, but she wanted Sherlock.

He again grabbed her wrists and held them above her head; she wriggled her hips, searching for what she wanted. Sherlock hissed as her hip bumped against him; if she was not careful, he would come before she wanted him too.

Sherlock placed himself at her entrance, looking her in the eyes, making sure this was what she wanted. She nodded her head. Sherlock entered her slowly, pausing as she adjusted to him. After ten minutes of slow moving, he thrust fully inside her, covering her mouth with his as she cried out in pain. Tears sprang to her eyes as she crested the wave of pain that eventually turned to pleasure.

She rocked her hips against the bed, begging Sherlock to keep going. He understood and slowly withdrew, and entered. This continued for a good fifteen minutes, him taking it slow, and her whimpering pleas to go faster. Sherlock smiled; he knew what she wanted, but he could not help but enjoy being a tease.

He took his breast in her mouth again, swirling his nimble tongue around her hard bud, trying to intensify her pleasure.

"Sherlock please!" She cried, trying to rock back against him as much as she could.

His thumb pressed down on that hard bud for a few seconds, before flicking it, as he increased his pace. Emma could feel the cresting wave again heading towards her with more force as Sherlock released her hands, slamming against her. She wrapped her legs around him, drawing him deeper into her, and kissed his swollen mouth. The wave hit and she shuddered in desire, wanting to pull Sherlock down with her; she wanted him to feel this. He began to tense, and she could feel that he was close.

"Emmaline." He called out, and a moment later, his sweaty form collapsed onto hers.

He rolled over next to her and drew her into his arms.

"Emmaline, my precious Emmaline." He whispered, kissing her hair.

Emma drew her arms around him, keeping them as close together as she possibly could.

"Sherlock, thank you." She said as the final cresting waves moved through her and left.

"My pleasure." He kissed her hair again, his tired body shutting down.

"Do we get to do it again?" She asked, eyes drooping as she snuggled further into his arms.

Sherlock chuckled as he drew the blankets up around them. "Whenever you want to." He promised, thinking of her glorious sweating body.

"Pervert." She said quietly, drumming her fingers against his thigh.

Sherlock frowned; he knew she was joking, but part of him now felt dirty.

"No, no, not like that Sherlock." She propped herself up on her elbow. "I enjoyed myself, all thanks to you. I wouldn't have had tonight any other way, do you understand me?"

Sherlock smiled softly. "You're mine now." He said before pressing his lips firmly against hers.

Emmaline smiled and nestled herself back into the safe cocoon of his embrace.

"We'll have to shower in the morning." She told him.

Sherlock laughed a twinkle in his eye. "Oh _we _have to, do we?"

"Only if you want to." Emma said, her eyes again drooping in Sherlock's warm arms.

"You have no idea the game you're trying to play." He growled playfully in her ear.

Emma smiled as her head sank against his chest and the gentle thrumming of his heart lulled her to sleep. Sherlock stayed up for a few minutes, watching the delicate creature wrapped in his arms sleep. He could not believe how lucky he was to have such an extraordinary woman love him; he felt blessed.

"You're too good for me." He said aloud to the sleeping woman, before snuggling into the blankets himself and falling asleep, holding the one thing he found dear to him.

**A/N: Hope you all enjoyed that! I hope to have more chapters up soon, but no promises about this week because I am busy ALL weekend. **


	32. Chapter 32: A Sunday Stroll

Dylan Eiler

The World is Spinning Backwards

Chapter 32: A Sunday Stroll

_Sherlock__,_

_Stepped out this morning to get some of my college textbooks from the bookstore__.__ I should be back before you are awake__.__ If not__,__ there are chocolate chip pancakes heating in the oven from yesterday morning__,__ so help yourself__.__ Also what did you want to do today__?__ Only two months until I have to leave for Cambridge__…_

_Love__,_

_Emmaline _

Sherlock smiled to himself as he read the note left on her pillow. He rolled over and got up, wrapping the sheet about him as he walked out into the kitchen. Sure enough, Emmaline was not back yet, but pancakes were where she had promised them. Sherlock turned the oven off and pulled the pancakes out, sitting down at the table with a fork.

He had just begun helping himself to them when Emmaline came in the door, laden down with bags.

"Here let me help." Sherlock got up; making sure his sheet was still wrapped, he took a few of the bags from her.

"Thanks."

Emmaline deposited her bags on the floor next to the couch and sat down at the table with a huff, stealing Sherlock's fork and taking a bite. Sherlock put the other bags down and sat down across from her.

"That's a lot of books." He commented.

"I know; some of them are for next semester, and a few are some recreational reading so I can get ahead."

"Planning on graduating Cambridge in two years?" He asked with a smile.

"Two and a half actually." She replied.

Sherlock cocked a brow before taking a bite of the pancakes.

"How do you plan on managing that?"

"Summer studies; the more I can get knocked out during the year, the sooner I graduate and can come back here."

Sherlock frowned. "I thought you were going to move back down here over the summer break."

Emma smiled and leaned across the table to kiss him. "I was." She pressed her lips against his firmly once more before sitting back in her seat. "But then I thought that it would be better to get University done with, and then I can come back here long-term and get my Masters, and then my Doctorate."

Sherlock licked his lips, which now tasted strongly of chocolate. Her plan made sense in the long-term; it meant she would get to spend more of her time with him after she graduated. However, right now, Sherlock wanted to see her as much as possible. If she were studying at Cambridge in the summer, then she could not move back down here with him.

"I know it doesn't sound like a lot of fun, but we can make it work." She assured him, taking his hand.

Sherlock gently ran his thumb across the back of her hand, gazing at her. Yes, they could make it work. Moreover, it would shorten her time away from him in the end. Then his Emmaline would be back on Montagu Street where she belonged, with him.

"Alright. We can do it." He agreed.

"Finish these pancakes big boy; I have to take a shower." Emma got up and leaned over to kiss him.

What was meant to be a short chaste kiss, ended with Emmaline in Sherlock's lap, with her arms around his neck.

"I really do have to shower." She reminded him gently as he nibbled on her shoulder.

"Alright." He lamented, pressing his mouth once more against hers.

As he did, he thought of how lucky he was to have such a creature. It was not something Sherlock had ever thought he would say: _lucky to have someone. _But he was lucky, and he felt it. Emmaline was everything he needed in a woman. She recognized his need for pride and accomplishments, but she never let his head get too big.

She was intelligent and funny, and could take care of him when he needed it. However, he could take care of her too. She let him hold her when he needed it; and Sherlock had never before thought he would crave someone else so close to him.

After that first night together, Sherlock had woken up to Emmaline burrowed in his arms, sleeping soundly. Feeling her sleeping next to him, and hearing her heart beat in her chest, he was truly happy for the first time he could remember. She had woken up and stared at him with those chocolate brown eyes, remembering what had occurred the night before. Those eyes had sparkled, and Sherlock remembered how clear his mind was, like never before.

His father had been like him and Mycroft: intelligent beyond the norm. He had always said that caring was a disadvantage, and that sentiment was a chemical defect found in the losing side. When Mycroft had asked their father if he loved their mother, their father had answered that, she was an 'acceptable match' for 'reproduction'.

Mycroft had become very much like their father, uncaring and unloving which made Sherlock sad. They used to be good friends when they were young. Mycroft being his only example, Sherlock had begun to take after him, becoming emotionless. However, after meeting Emmaline two years ago he had felt that cold shell melting. She was drawing him out slowly, and he did not mind it. He loved this woman, and he needed her to know it.

Because of her, he felt more comfortable in who he was; she had done more for him in two years than his brother had in his whole life. Just by being there and accepting him, he had found a life-long friend and partner. Their relationship turning romantic was not something he had planned on; he had been completely unaware of her feelings until she had confessed them.

Sherlock had been in other relationships, but always the girl had approached him. Rachel had been his first where he felt that he could be human, that someone could love him for who he was. Near the end however, she had begun asking him to change, and he could not. Sherlock was proud of who he was, even if he was a little odd.

After leaving University, he had resigned himself to never being able to find someone to love him. He had had every intention of growing old alone, a bachelor. Then he had been called to New York to investigate a suicide, possible murder; his flight back to London had been delayed so he had to catch one the next day. His seat number had been changed to accommodate an older flyer, and he had ended up next to Emmaline. If ever Sherlock believed in fate, he certainly believed in it now. She was meant to be his.

"Alright, I have to get cleaned up." Emma insisted.

"I could help." Sherlock spoke against her mouth, wrapping his arms tightly around her back.

"You did the other day." She reminded him, pressing her lips firmly against his once.

Sherlock smiled and kissed her back as he thought of that pleasant memory, one that he would hold forever, just like the first time they had made love. Random images flashed through his mind as she sat in his lap, giving him her affectionate attention. Her wet hair, and the way water fell down her back…their hands intertwined, pressed against the hard tile of the shower…her hand fisted in his wet hair as their lips crashed together for the nth time…Sherlock would remember it all. Every moment they had spent together was stored in his mind.

"Alright, go shower. I have to get dressed anyway." Sherlock gave in.

Emma smiled as she got up from his lap and walked off into the bathroom. Sherlock stood and walked into the bedroom, depositing the sheet on the floor and changing into his usual daily wear. The note from Emmaline still lay on her pillow.

What could they do today? He only had two months to make sure she remembered him while she was away, and that her attentions did not stray. With Emmaline, he was sure they would not, but he had also been sure with Rachel and that had ended disastrously. No, he needed to prove to her that he could be a normal boyfriend. Secretly, Sherlock was worried about being her boyfriend. He knew that, to her, he was good enough to be a friend, but was he good enough to be more than that? He was more nervous around her now than he had ever been, though he would never admit that to her.

Sherlock racked his brain for somewhere to go, somewhere she would enjoy herself that she had not been before. He sat on his bed for a few minutes, trying to come up with some place where she could have fun. Suddenly, Sherlock thought of the park. London was known for having some of the most beautiful parks in the world, and he had never taken her to one of them. Most of this was due to Sherlock not caring much for the outdoors. As far as he knew, she did not enjoy the outdoors either. Emmaline preferred to paint.

Oddly enough, that was something she had not done lately…Sherlock shook his head at the new train of thought. He was not trying to focus on her habits and what they meant; he was trying to figure out where to take her for a date. Sherlock thought through all the parks and where he thought she would like to go; eventually he decided on Hyde Park. It was nice and green, and they could have a romantic walk and a picnic.

She would think of it that way, as romantic. Even with her drawing him out, he was still having trouble understanding some of the relationship basics. He understood the physical part – as few chose to believe, he _was_ a man, and that was instinct. The sentiment behind the actions was harder for him to grasp. Sherlock was not far enough out of his dead father's, or Mycroft's cold grasp, to understand what it truly meant when he told her he loved her. He was sure he did, Sherlock was just not absolutely sure why. Some day he would have to sit down and think it over. He owed her that much, to understand the sentiment behind his actions.

Sherlock heard the shower still running, and so wrote a quick note to Emmaline before he left; he had to get a picnic basket and lunch if he was going to take her out this afternoon.

Emmaline,

I have gone out for a bit, to the store. Do not worry I will be home soon. No you are not allowed to know where, nor are you allowed to follow. It is a surprise for today..

Love,

Sherlock

Sherlock slipped the note under the bathroom door and left, heading out to the store.

ᶓ

Emmaline flipped the note she held over, reading the back.

'Hyde Park, 3.00. If convenient, come at once. If inconvenient, come anyway..' SH.

Emma smiled softly to herself, scrunching her wet hair in the fuzzy towel. She had no idea what Sherlock was planning, but the fact that he was planning anything at all was cause for excitement. She understood that he was having difficulties getting used to their new relationship parameters. She was as well. Having to go out and buy condoms, because she was sleeping with _Sherlock, _had been a very strange experience.

Emma glanced at the clock; it was only two-thirty. She could get dressed quickly and dry her hair, and have just enough time to meet him. Of course, Hyde Park was huge and he had not designated a meeting place. Perhaps he would be at the entrance. She finished towel drying her hair while she picked out a white skirt and black lace top to wear that day.

Emmaline glanced at the note one more time before putting it in her filing cabinet. She saved every note Sherlock had ever written her; not only because they were sweet little messages, but also because she liked his handwriting.

With a bounce in her step, Emma bounded out of the flat to meet her boyfriend at the park.

ᶓ

'Walk thirty steps forward, and then turn left.' SH.

Emmaline followed the instructions on the fourth piece of paper she had found in the park. When she had done as instructed she had come to a small grove of bushes. Lying on top, was another piece of folded paper. Emma sighed and pocketed the one she already held.

'Look to your right.' SH.

Emma turned her head and gasped before smiling. Sherlock was seated in the grass on a large checkered blanket, a picnic basket next to him and two plates set down on the grass.

"You did this?" She asked, sitting down next to him.

"Who else would?" Sherlock asked, slightly confused by her question.

Emma giggled and kissed him, appreciating the effort he had made.

"Hungry?" He asked, pulling away and unloading the picnic basket.

"Yes please." Emma answered with a nod.

Sherlock handed her a plate of grapes, lunchmeat, a dinner roll, and a slice of raisin cake.

"Quite the spread." Emma commented, rolling up a slice of lunchmeat rotisserie chicken and biting it in half.

"I tried to grab small things that you could eat easily." Sherlock said, cheeks flushing.

"Oh, I love it. I didn't mean it like that." Emma quickly leaned in to kiss his cheek. "Really, this is nice."

"Thank you." Sherlock bristled with pride.

He had never done these things with Rachel, and she had left him for another man. He was trying to correct his mistake now, because Emmaline was much more important to him. He did not want her to forget about him when she went away.

Sherlock pulled out a bottle of champagne and showed it to her.

"Would you care for a glass?" He asked.

"Yes please." Sherlock popped the cork and poured two plastic cups of champagne for them. "Are you sure this is OK, with your addictive personality?" Emmaline inquired seriously.

"I'll be fine; it's just one glass." He replied.

"Well then, what should we toast to?" She asked, holding her glass up with a wondering look.

"A long and healthy relationship." Sherlock answered, bumping his cup against hers.

Emmaline smiled and drank, coughing a bit on the bitter taste of the alcohol. "I've never had this before." She said with a cough.

"It's awful, I don't recommend it." Sherlock told her with a smile.

Emma glared at him playfully, popping a grape into her mouth. "So, why the picnic? This is rather special…is there something about today that I'm not remembering?"

Sherlock shook his head. "You only have two months left before you go away to school, and I want to make them special."

"Sherlock you don't have to. It's just college; besides, I'll be down here almost every weekend; or you'll be up there." She told him.

"I know, but you'll be busier than you think and you won't have time for me." He said sadly, staring down at the grass.

"Sherlock, is that what this is about? You want to make sure I remember you?" She scooted closer to him, trying to make him meet her gaze.

"When you leave, you'll forget all about me and I'll be alone again; I won't have my Emmaline."

"How could you say that? Do you really think that would happen?"

Sherlock sighed and pulled on a few blades of grass. "Yes. No. I don't know. University changes people, and I don't want you to meet someone better while you're there. Somebody better than me who you'll be able to love more, and who can love you in the way you need them too."

"Sherlock." Emma took his hands and held them in her lap. "That is silly. I could never meet someone better than you – I love you. And the way you love me, that's exactly the way I need it, because you love me as yourself." Emma smiled and cupped his cheek. "I never expected you to change and become Mr. Dashing when we got together, and I still don't. You are Sherlock Holmes, the Consulting Detective. You see everything differently; if you do not quite understand love or sentiment that is fine, because you try; and you try for me. You did not just say no that night – you went home and you thought about it, about me and us."

Emma stared imploringly at him, willing him to understand why there could never be another like him. "You put me back together after my mother died, and after my grandparents died. I told you what happened to me and you did not run away; you stayed with me. I need someone who is willing to spend the time with me that I need, and you do that. You have always been there for me Sherlock, no matter what was going on."

He looked at his Emmaline sitting before him, on the verge of tears because of the emotion in her voice as she spoke to him, begging him to understand why he was important. He had never meant to make her cry by taking her out today; of course, he had never meant to mention his insecurities either. Nevertheless, he had and now Emmaline knew that he was afraid of her leaving him. Because she was too good for him, even if she did not believe it.

"Are you sure?" He asked his own voice thick.

Emma knew that he meant sure about their relationship; sure that she was making the right choice in being with him, as this was something Sherlock was always second-guessing. He needed to know that she wanted to be with him, and more than that, that she wouldn't hurt him after she went away to University.

"Yes, I'm sure."

Sherlock sighed, relieved. Leaning forward, he trapped Emmaline's mouth with his, trying to express his relief and his joy with the meeting of their lips.

"Let's finish eating, and then we can walk around." Emma promised, kissing him chastely one more time.

"Alright." Sherlock leaned back and picked up his plate. "You'll love the park – it's beautiful." He insisted.

ᶓ

That night as Sherlock and Emmaline settled down for bed, they both felt validated in one another's feelings. Sherlock knew that he had nothing to worry about with Emmaline because she would never cheat on him, as Rachel had. Emmaline knew that Sherlock was just worried about getting hurt again, something she understood.

Neither of them would ever do anything to hurt the other. Sherlock tucked Emmaline securely in his arms and set his head gently upon hers, watching closely as her eyes drooped and her breathing settled into the gentle rhythm of sleep.

He brought his lips to rest gently on the top of her head, whispering: "I love you." And he meant it, more than he ever had before. With her speech at the park earlier today, he had learned a little bit, of just how much he meant to her, and it was drawing him out more from that shell. Knowing that someone cared that much and that deeply for him, was making Sherlock into a new man.


	33. Chapter 33: The Beginning of the End

Dylan Eiler

**A/N: I am so sorry it has been almost two months since I have posted! A little thing called 'life' got in the way and registering for college got in the way. Not to mention I am a fandom girl and started watching new shows and movies, and I have not had internet pretty much the entirety of these two months. Without further wait, chapter 33. **

Chapter 33: The Beginning of the End

Emma stood in the kitchen, being as quiet as possible, while trying to make lunch. Sherlock was meeting with one of his brother's associates in the living room and she did not want to disturb them. Emma opened the oven quietly and slipped the pan of macaroni in, trying not to slam the oven door shut. It closed with a quiet creak, which made Emma wince. She knew the importance of keeping their relationship a secret from Mycroft. A man who was practically the British government could do all kinds of things, least of all force her to move away.

Not that Emmaline thought Mycroft would do this; from what she had seen of him, he appeared to genuinely care about Sherlock and his well-being. However, Sherlock was sure this would be the case, so quiet she kept. Emma hopped up on the counter, waiting for Mycroft's colleague to leave.

ᶓ

Sherlock kept sneaking glances at the kitchen when Mr. Green was not looking. Mycroft had sent Mr. Green over to him because the man was having trouble in a domestic matter, and Mycroft knew Sherlock would able to figure it out discreetly and quickly. He paid attention to everything the man said, noticing his furtive glances. It seemed that Mr. Green was also there to spy on Sherlock, for Mycroft.

After Emmaline had moved in, Sherlock had removed all the cameras so that his elder brother could not intrude upon the privacy the poor girl had needed. After that, he would perform regular checks to see if any new cameras had been installed. He did not want Mycroft knowing the turn his and Emmaline's relationship had taken, though shortly after her eighteenth birthday he had received a note from his brother.

'Have made sure that you are no longer listed as Ms. Johnson's only living relative as the lady is now eighteen. I have also taken the liberty of speaking to Lestrade about the document 'mix-up' so that you will be in no trouble. MH.'

Sherlock had appreciated that his brother had done this, though as to why he could not say. One thing was for certain, he wanted this Mr. Green out of his flat. He had already given him all the vital information and it was clear to Sherlock that the cause of the disturbance was an affair between his wife and the gardener. Nevertheless, a good detective always checked the facts.

"Thank you, Mr. Green. I will take the train out tomorrow to come and see you about your problem. I think that I will have it cleared up in no time." Sherlock promised, ushering the man out.

Mr. Greene tried to protest, but Sherlock was insistent and pushed him out the door before bolting it shut.

"Is he gone?" Emma called from the kitchen.

"Yes." Sherlock answered after looking through the peephole. He was sure that Mycroft knew something, but he was not exactly sure what. His brother had tentacles in everyone's business, and most of all Sherlock's.

"Oh thank god! I was getting so tired of trying to be quiet in my own kitchen." Emmaline said with a huff, appearing around the doorway.

"Oh it's your kitchen now is it?" Sherlock asked, winding his arms around her waist teasingly.

"Since I'm the only one who ever cooks, yes, it is my kitchen." Emma answered, crossing her arms.

"What's for lunch?" Sherlock asked as he walked through the living room, sweeping for cameras. With Mr. Greene going through their house, he would not have been surprised if the man had laid some new ones in.

He brushed his hand across the chair the man had been sitting in and found one secured to the underside. Sherlock scoffed. _Obvious, _he thought before crushing it in his hand and throwing away the remnants. He found two more cameras the man had been able to hide in the flat before finally returning to Emmaline in the kitchen.

"Macaroni and cheese, homemade obviously." Emma said proudly as she flipped through a psychology textbook that she had lying open on the counter.

Emma was trying to get a jumpstart on her education so that she could finish school as quickly as possible and move back down to Westminster when it was done; after her bachelor degree however, she still wanted to work towards a Doctorate.

"I thought about making banana bread too." She said absentmindedly, re-reading a paragraph about longitudinal studies.

"Sounds delicious." He said, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

"Oh," she said cocking a brow, "you're eating are you?"

Sherlock smiled and nuzzled her ear. "Not on a case right now." He reminded her.

"Oh, that's right."

Sherlock felt her tense as she remembered; he had been working on catching her grandparent's murderer. He had done so successfully and the court case had ended quite recently since the man had entered a guilty verdict. He was going to jail for a number of years, as was his accomplice, who had also admitted to murder and the robberies.

"The gang they belonged to won't do very well now that their leader is in jail." Sherlock offered.

Emma smiled sadly. "Probably not." She agreed. She had spent time trying to get over her grandparent's murder and bringing it up was not helping her.

"Why didn't you go to the trial?" Sherlock asked seriously, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"Because I can't see the men that killed the only family I had left. It would have hurt too much." She said shortly, working her way out of Sherlock's embrace.

"I didn't – I didn't mean to hurt you." Sherlock fumbled, standing awkwardly, digging his hands into his pockets.

Emma smiled sadly, as she ground the heels of her hands into her eyes to stop the tears from coming. "I know you didn't Sherlock I just – I don't want to talk about them." It had been only four months since their death and though she had Sherlock, it was still too soon to think about them too much.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock said again quietly, not sure what to do. He and Mycroft both buried their grief, especially after the death of their father; neither of them had known how to comfort their mother. Crying people made Sherlock nervous. _Think I would be used to it by now, seeing Emmaline cry so much, _he thought sadly.

Emma wiped away the few tears that had managed to escape and turned to face her boyfriend, smiling more brightly. "I know; after lunch I'll teach you to bake banana bread, OK? To say I'm sorry." She promised.

"OK." Sherlock agreed. Anything not to see Emmaline so sad. Though she smiled, he could see it in her eyes that talking about her grandparents had upset her.

ᶓ

"Sherlock, this is really good." Emmaline exclaimed, trying the cooled banana bread he had made.

"It's OK." He said with a frown. The bread Emmaline made never turned out dark brown and crusty.

"It's great for a first try." She conceded, seeing Sherlock's disappointed face. "Hey," she took his face gently in his hands. "I like it." She told him, sealing her words with a kiss. "I can't believe we were ever just friends." She told him with a small smile. _I cannot believe I once thought you were strange looking, _she thought to herself.

"Why?" Sherlock asked, confused.

"Because we couldn't do this." She answered, tracing his mouth with her tongue.

Sherlock shivered in response, his fingers trailing down her bare arms. "I agree – this is much better."

She took his warm hand in hers and guided him into his room – the bedroom that the two now shared.

"So this is what you had in mind?" Sherlock asked playfully as Emmaline pushed him onto the bed.

"This is what I always have in mind these days." She answered, pressing herself against him.

"I can help with that." He replied, flipping her over so she rested against the tan downy comforter.

"I was hoping so." Emma said with a smile, running her hands up his still clothed back.

With a predatory grin, Sherlock leaned down to cover her mouth with his.

**A/N: I hope to begin updating again, but I have to go to my friend's house to use internet to post so we shall see how that goes. I know this fic will only be 45 chapters long, and then an epilogue. After that I will go back and edit and fix the first two books in the Sherlock series, then begin writing 'The Final Game'. **


	34. Chapter 34: A Life-Altering Occurence

Dylan Eiler

The World is Spinning Backwards

Chapter 34: A Life-Altering Occurrence

Emma pushed the grocery cart down the aisle, reading items off her list to herself as she looked for them.

"White rice, milk, eggs, bread, flour…" she trailed off as she crossed off each item.

Her phone rang as she was bagging two ears of corn.

"Hello?" She answered, putting it in the crook of her neck as she grabbed potatoes and bagged them.

"Hello love." Sherlock's velvety baritone replied over the phone.

Emma smiled to herself and pushed the cart away from the vegetables. "Hey babe. Did you need anything at the store?" She asked, picking up some lettuce and looking over the leaves.

"No – well, aren't we out of tea packets?" He asked, trying to remember. The kitchen was not his area of expertise and he did not store information from that room in his mind palace.

"Yeah – that's on my list." She told him.

"Then no, I'm fine." She chuckled. Of course, he was; the man rarely ate unless she forced him too. "I just called to tell you I will be home a little later because of the case I am working."

"Alright well I'm checking out now, so I'll start dinner when I get home. Are you eating?" She asked, setting items on the belt for the cashier to bag.

"I should be – this case is just about solved. I just need to talk to Lestrade about something. I should be home in an hour or so."

"Alright sweetie; I love you." Emma said, paying for the groceries and putting the bags in her cart.

"I love you too." Sherlock replied before hanging up.

Emma put her phone back in her purse and took the groceries in her arms, glad the case Sherlock was working on was solved. He had been working on it for three days and had done nothing but work; Sherlock had not time for food or company when he was working on a truly interesting case.

Emmaline had felt quite rejected the first day until she remembered that this was whom she had fallen in love with; the man who dropped everything for a mystery to solve. She knew he would be back to her when he was done so she had given him time to work alone.

She was glad when she finally got back to the flat; setting the groceries down outside the door, she rooted around in her bag for a key. Just when she had produced it, she looked down at the door. There were scrape marks around the lock and the door was slightly ajar.

Sherlock had done this before when he had forgotten a key and no one was there to let him in, but he knew Emmaline was coming home soon…and she did not think he would have been done talking to Lestrade so quickly. He was not due home for at least twenty minutes, according to him.

She picked up the groceries and pushed the door open with her foot, entering tentatively. She pushed back against the door, shutting it.

"Sherlock?" She called out.

The lights in the flat were all out and she felt something was wrong. She made her way into the living room when she stopped short. Standing in her flat was a teenage boy, maybe fifteen years old, who wielded a knife. His eyes widened in surprise when she walked in. He had obviously been expecting someone else.

"Let's stay calm." Emma urged, never taking her eyes off the blade. Her voice shook slightly with the fear she felt at the break-in.

The boy did anything but; he had been sent here to kill Sherlock Holmes as gang initiation, payback for the detective putting their leader in prison. No one had said there would be a girl here. Not knowing what to do, the boy lashed out with the blade he held and ran for it.

Emma felt a white-hot pain sear her throat as she heard the pounding footsteps of the boy get quieter as he ran down the stairs. She dropped the bags she held and pressed a hand to her neck; it came away covered in blood: her blood. Panicking, she turned towards the kitchen, where the nearest phone was; the phone in her bag was completely forgotten.

She pressed her hand back against the wound and made her way across the living room before she felt dizzy and her vision became fuzzy. Emma reached a hand out and touched the doorjamb before falling over onto the cold tile of the kitchen floor, hitting her head, and blacking out, her wound continuing to stain the white floor a dark red.

ᶓ

Sherlock stepped into the crisp August air; his coat bundled around him as he walked home. Emmaline had promised dinner by the time he got there, and he knew she would be pleased he was done working for now. He had noticed Emmaline sulking the first day he had a case, but her mood had picked back up the past few days.

He would not apologize for his work; it was something that he loved to do. However, he could take a day off so they could do something together. She was leaving for Cambridge in two weeks and had already been sent her dorm assignment. It pained Sherlock to think she would be leaving him so soon, but they had made plans to see each other every couple of weekends, as her work permitted.

Sherlock bounded up the steps, loosening the scarf about his neck as he pulled the key from his pocket. He was about to put it in the lock when he noticed the door was slightly ajar. His heart ran cold as he pushed the door open carefully. Sherlock's breath left him as he saw the fallen bags, groceries lying everywhere in the living room. He ran to where they were, examining the floor. Droplets of blood covered the hardwood floor, leaving a trail that led to…the kitchen.

He stood and raced to the kitchen and he stopped, frozen. Lying on the floor in a pool of scarlet liquid was his Emmaline. Her skin was sickly pale and she did not move but for the faintest of breath that passed her lips.

"Emmaline!" He finally choked out, rushing to her side.

He pressed a gloved hand to the gash in her throat as he kneeled next to her. His other hand pulled out his phone and dialed '999', requesting immediate assistance and an ambulance.

The call made, help on the way, his phone clattered to the floor as he applied more pressure to her wound.

"No, no Emmaline, hold on. Please hold on." He begged, tears springing to his eyes as he watched her lying there, helpless to do anything for her.

EMTs arrived minutes later and pushed him out of the way. Lestrade, having heard that help had been called to Sherlock's address, came and pulled Sherlock into the living room.

"She'll be taken to the hospital once they assess her condition here." Lestrade told his friend gently.

"She's flat lining!" He heard the yells from the kitchen. "We need to get her to a hospital stat!" The other officer demanded, bringing in a stretcher.

Lestrade held Sherlock in a restraining grasp; he knew the two were close friends and that Sherlock would try to go into the kitchen and only hamper the progress the first responders were trying to make.

"You can visit her in the hospital Sherlock." Lestrade yelled in Sherlock's ear.

Sherlock ignored his friend and still fought against his strong grip. He needed to ride in the ambulance with her, needed to know she would be OK. He watched as they lifted her onto the stretcher, the pool of blood staying behind on his tiled floor. She had lost so much…

"You can go wait in the ER waiting room if you have to." Lestrade told him, still holding Sherlock. He did not want the man running out of the flat right now. "Change first, you're covered in blood."

That much was true; Sherlock's gloves, pants and the end of his coat were saturated with it.

"You want me to change my clothes while she's dying?" Sherlock yelled, wrenching free of Lestrade's iron grip.

"Sherlock, she'll be fine!" Lestrade yelled back, hoping it would be true.

"She flat-lined in my kitchen!" Sherlock screamed, tears spilling forth over and running down his cheeks. "She was attacked in her home and is fighting for her life, and you want me to change?" The strangled cries tore from his throat with an almost animal sound as he collapsed to his knees on the hardwood floor.

"They won't let you in otherwise Sherlock." Greg spoke gently, holding out a hand.

Sherlock sighed and let out a deep breath, trying to collect himself. He had to get into the hospital; he had to see Emmaline as soon as she woke up. Because she would wake up.

"Fine." He said in a huff, standing and leaving Lestrade alone in the living room.

He changed quickly, leaving his bloody clothes in a heap on his bedroom floor. From the closet, he grabbed his old pea coat and put it on before allowing Lestrade to escort him outside. He did not even throw up a fuss when he was placed in the back of a police car to be taken to the hospital. He had to get to the hospital as quickly as possible to check on her condition.

ᶓ

"Miss Johnson is not up for receiving visitors at this moment, she was just stabilized." The receptionist told Sherlock when he went up to check again on Emmaline's condition. He had been here for hours waiting to see how she was, anxious to see her.

"I have to see her, please!" He urged his voice desperate.

"Sherlock, sit down." Lestrade told his friend. He turned to the receptionist and began a conversation with her as Sherlock took a seat in the lobby. His friend had left to go back to Scotland Yard after dropping Sherlock off, but had recently come back to check on him and Emmaline.

He rang his hands as he waited for some news, or for Lestrade to come back. Emmaline had been attacked in his flat; someone had gotten in and tried to get to him, most likely. He would not know until she woke up and told him what happened but he could guess. It was not a robbery, nothing had been stolen. Moreover, no one would lie in wait for Emmaline – she had no enemies. However, Sherlock had plenty.

"Come on." Lestrade walked over to where Sherlock was seated and helped his friend up. "She's giving you five minutes because I begged and flashed my badge, but that's it. Five minutes and nothing more for today."

Sherlock thanked Lestrade as he rushed past him and down the hall, counting the numbers until he reached door '553'. As Sherlock knocked on the door and pushed it open, he distantly wondered if this was how Emmaline had felt when rushing to see him in the hospital almost two years ago.

His heart was drumming erratic rhythms against his rib cage as he stepped into the dimly lit room. The curtains were drawn and the only light on was the one near the door. Her bed was cast in darkness but he could make it her form in the large bed, her chest moving up and down with each breath. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks that she seemed to be all right.

He stepped nearer the bed and sat in the chair to her right, reaching out across the scratchy hospital sheets to hold her hand. She stirred at the contact and turned her head to the right, her eyes blinking open slowly. Sherlock swallowed the lump in his throat as he eyed the large bandage that covered the area between her collarbone and her throat.

_This is my fault, _he thought. _I brought this danger home to her. _Sherlock kept his thoughts to himself but frowned, rubbing circles into the back of her hand.

"Hey." She said creakily. "Wow, I sound awful."

"You've been asleep for hours. Would you like some water?" He made to stand up but her grip tightened on his hand.

"Not right now." She cleared her dry throat and waited patiently as he sat down.

"What do you remember?" He asked, worried about the answer.

"Just – being attacked at home and then – not making it into the kitchen. I – I was trying to – dial the emergency number. I woke up once, I think, here. But they put me back to sleep. And then I turned over and saw you."

Sherlock smiled weakly, thankful she did not remember almost bleeding out on their kitchen floor.

"How did I get here?" She asked, running her fingers over the knit blanket on top of her.

"I found you and called for an ambulance." Sherlock replied, avoiding her gaze.

Emma tried to get him to look at her, but he refused. After a minutes silence she asked, "Sherlock…was it, was it bad?"

"You were swimming in it. You were – it was everywhere." Sherlock's voice shook as he remembered seeing her lying there.

"Hey, baby, I'm fine now." She said gently.

"It's my fault." Sherlock blurted out. "Whoever it was, was there for me was he not? I put you in danger."

"Sherlock don't be silly." Emma said, shaking her head slightly.

There was a light knock on the door and Lestrade opened it. "Time's up Sherlock; you can visit her tomorrow."

Sherlock nodded his head and stood up with a sigh. He planted a light kiss on Emmaline's forehead before leaning down to whisper in her ear.

"You won't be able to convince me this was not my fault; I almost got you killed today love, and I will not forgive myself."

Emma watched as Sherlock's proud form hunched under the weight of his guilt and he left her feeling worse than she had in a long time.

ᶓ

"You can be released tomorrow." Greg told Emma, during visiting hours on her third day in the hospital.

"And you found the kid that did this?" She asked again.

"Frederick Martin aged 15. Confessed to the whole thing, and that he was lying in wait to kill Sherlock as part of a gang initiation/payback against him for sending their leaders to jail."

Emma sighed in relief. "Good work Greg."

"I'm just glad to see you are alright Emma." Lestrade kissed her cheek before gathering his coat and standing. "I have to be going – I have a date."

"Good luck big boy." Emma encouraged with a wink.

Lestrade blushed and stammered another goodbye while Emma chuckled. She only had to wait a few minutes before Sherlock arrived. Her boyfriend had visited every day and stayed for the entirety of visiting hours, but he had been strangely distant. He barely spoke and just hung around staring sadly at the ground or held Emma's hand while soaking in her image.

"Hey." She smiled brightly as Sherlock came in, but the grin soon disappeared. Sherlock's face was pale and drawn, just like every time he had come in to see her.

"Lestrade says I'm being released tomorrow morning." When Sherlock said nothing Emma went on. "And they caught the kid who attacked me." Still her lover said nothing. "Sherlock, are you listening to me? I'm coming home tomorrow."

She watched as he winced and sat down in the chair next to her bed.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?"

Sherlock said nothing at first but instead took her hand in his and traced circles with his thumb. He swallowed down his self-hate and thought of what he had to do. _It's the only way to keep her safe. _

"I hired a cab to take you to Cambridge tomorrow morning, and I've packed all your things for you. They're over there."

Emma looked over and saw that indeed there were a few suitcases in the corner by the door.

"I'm dangerous, and I'm damaged, and I don't deserve you. I got you hurt Emmaline and I can't watch that happen again so you have to leave. I'm not a good person, and I'm not a good friend. I don't know what you saw in me." He shook his head forlornly.

Opening her mouth to speak, she was cut off by Sherlock's fingers on her lips.

"I don't want to hear anything you have to say. I know you'll try to convince me that you should stay, but I know that you can't. I can't be around you."

Sherlock squeezed her hand one last time and stood up.

"This is goodbye Emmaline."

Leaning down, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Sherlock…" tears threatened to spill from Emmaline's eyes as she saw the heartbroken and despondent expression on the face of her only love.

He captured her mouth with his in one last bitter, longing kiss before drawing away.

"I never want to see you again." He said, drawing himself up. His words rang with finality and they cut through Emmaline's heart, causing a new wound to bleed as she watched him walk from her hospital room.

After sitting for a few minutes dumbstruck, she worked up the courage to walk over to the packed belongings he had left. A part of her hoped that he had left them empty and this whole thing was some sort of sick joke. She opened the first case and saw that it was full to the brim with her clothes.

The first tears worked their way down her cheeks as a choked sob escaped her throat. _He really packed my things…he's really leaving…_she thought. Emma opened case after case and saw her clothes, and toiletries and books and records and painting things. The last case, the smallest, held all her picture frames. Pictures her mother had taken, pictures of her with friends, and pictures of her and Sherlock. She held one to her chest as she allowed herself to cry, her heart a gaping wound that she never wanted to fix.


	35. Chapter 35: Calls from a Broken Heart

Chapter 35: Calls from a Broken Heart

"_Hey Sherlock, it's me, Emmaline. I just wanted to call and say that I made it to Cambridge all right and I finished moving in – a few minutes ago actually. Umm…I guess I just called to tell you that. I start classes in two days so I am pretty excited for that…oh shit, my roommate came back. Bye. It's Emmaline, again, just in case you forgot."_

"_Sherlock, hey, it's me again. I just wanted to let you know classes are doing really well. I made a new friend – Julianne. We are going to the fall play next week. Call me?"_

"_Hey, just wondering what you were doing for Halloween, if you were going to go out without me there? I hope you are doing well. I haven't heard from you."_

"_It's Emmaline again…I don't know if you got the Christmas present I sent you or not but it should be there by now. You don't have to get me anything it's fine I just…I don't know. I do not know why I keep calling you. You never call me back. Classes are doing well, not that you care. I hope you are keeping sane Sherlock…keeping off the drugs and whatnot. Call me or not, I don't care anymore."_

"_Happy Birthday Sherlock. How old are you now, 27? One year older, do you feel any wiser? Or are you a fish trying to climb a tree. I – I think I am done Sherlock. I am done calling someone who does not want to hear from me anymore. If you want to call me then fine, if not that is fine too. I just want to be friends. I miss you. Call me."_

Sherlock sighed as he listened to the latest message. There were much more that he had forgotten: her calling him to beg for him back, angry rants, drunken calls, and then the well wishes. It had been five months since he had said goodbye to her in that hospital room and Sherlock had felt awful every moment since.

It was always a struggle not to call her, text her or drive the hell up there and apologize on his knees for what he had done. However, he knew he was doing the right thing and was keeping her safe. He was dangerous to be around, as proved by the fact that she had been attacked. But he missed her…_no. I have to stay away, _he reminded himself.

Therefore, Sherlock threw himself into his work repeatedly trying to avoid the memory of her and her smile; the way it lit up in her eyes and made him feel happy by extension. He tried not to remember the fact that she had sat there with him for hours on end, just sitting because he did not feel like talking but wanted to spend time with her. She had put up with his violin playing, had been there for him through rehab, had forced him to get on an eating routine; he especially tried not to think about after June when they had become…intimate.

After five months of non-stop work, Lestrade had urged Sherlock to take a break and now here he was on his twenty-seventh birthday listening to Emmaline's latest message. He heaved a sigh as he collapsed in bed. _I should call her…_

Before he could convince himself that it was a bad idea, Sherlock had picked up his phone and was dialing her number. He waited patiently as it rang, his breath catching as she answered.

"Hello?" Emma answered her phone breathless. The caller I.D. had said 'Sweetheart'. Could it be someone else using his phone?

"Hello, Emmaline?" He asked nervously.

All the words Emma had lined up vanished. She sat speechless, listening to the other person on the line continuing to speak, but all she could think was that it was really Sherlock. 

"Sherlock?" She asked, just to make sure.

"Yes."

"Oh my God. How are you, how have you been?" She asked hurriedly, praying he would not hang up. It had been five months since she had heard his voice; she did not want him to stop talking so soon.

"I'm good…I'm fine. I – I got your messages." He said awkwardly.

Emma blushed; she had left plenty of scathing messages, and plenty of drunk ones in between the messages that actually made sense.

"I – I'm sorry about those."

"No – no it's – it's fine." He cleared his throat, trying to find any excuse to keep her on the line. "Do you want to – hang out sometime?" He winced at how pathetic his voice sounded.

Emma's heart soared. He was calling to see about getting back together.

"I would love to."

"As friends of course." Sherlock added last minute. After he did, he felt stupid and slapped his hand to his forehead.

"Yeah – that's fine. Did you have somewhere in mind?" She asked a bit tersely. She was not sure if she could be 'just friends' with Sherlock, but after five months apart from him, she was willing to try if it meant she could be near him.

"There's a pub about halfway between here and Cambridge if I remember correctly called…" Sherlock racked his brain trying to remember. "Shit I think it's 'The Golden Rose Pub'."

"Since when do you swear?" She asked, waving frantically at Julianne for a pen and writing the pub name down on her arm.

"A lot has changed; it has been five months." Sherlock replied. "See you there this Saturday?"

"Yeah, Saturday is fine." Emma replied, feigning indifference.

Sherlock chuckled into the receiver. "It was good hearing your voice again Emmaline."

"Yours too Sherlock." She got out, right before he hung up.

Sherlock closed his eyes and sank back against the pillows. _What have I done? There is no way I will be able to be friends with her. _

Emmaline's friend Julianne sat down on her bed and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "What happened sweetie?" Emmaline stared down at her phone and the pub name scrawled on her arm.

"I'm not quite sure." She replied.

ᶓ

That Saturday, Sherlock had booked a cab to take him up to the pub and sit outside for two hours while he talked to Emmaline, and to bring him back to Westminster. He dressed up in his usual suit and button-down before grabbing his scarf and coat and heading out. His body tingled with the nervous anticipation that came with seeing her again; he wondered what would happen.

Emmaline emerged from the bathroom, dressed and showing her friend Julianne, what she had picked out to wear.

"This is alright is it not? Fun but casual?" She asked, worried.

"It's fine sweetheart, don't worry. Today will go great."

"Thanks Julianne." Emmaline leaned in and kissed her friend's cheek.

Julianne was Emma's dorm mate and best friend; the red-headed Texan transfer student knew everything about Emma and Sherlock. The two girls had become fast friends and she knew what was waiting for her best friend in that pub. Heart-break or Happiness.

Emma looked over herself one more time. She had gone with simple blue jeans, brown boots and the penguin sweater Sherlock had gotten her last year.

"Good luck sweetie." Julianne hugged her friend goodbye.

Emmaline got in her car, she had held her permit while her grandparents were still alive and gotten her license after moving to Cambridge, and pulled out of the parking lot. She drummed her fingers against the wheel as she thought about what today would hold for her.

ᶓ

When Emmaline found a parking space and walked into the Golden Rose Pub, Sherlock was already seated at a table in the back. _He is really here, _she thought to herself. She began the long walk to his table and drank in his appearance.

His hair was a bit longer; the dark curls now reaching the top of his coat collar; his skin just as pale as ever. His long slender fingers gripped his cup of tea firmly as he brought it to his pale pink lips. _God, he has not changed at all. I wonder if he will think I have. _

She walked cautiously over to him and stood.

"Hello Sherlock." She said nervously, her stomach filled with dancing butterflies.

He quickly stood from his chair, his knees hitting the table forcefully, causing him to swear and his chair to fly backwards. Emma smiled at how much he had changed, and how much he had not. The swearing was somewhat new and she could only assume that he had picked it up from bad television or the police force.

The clumsiness, she was sure, was because he had been surprised. It was hard to surprise Sherlock Holmes but for some reason, he had not been sure she would be here. Seeing her standing before him now, she seemed almost a dream. A dream that he had had every night since her forced departure from his life.

Little had changed about her. She was slightly taller than when she had left, and a bit curvier. Her brown hair now boasted a few honey blonde highlights and it had been cut to her shoulders, her bangs sweeping across her forehead. Emmaline still wore the penguin sweater he had gotten her; he wondered if it was a long forgotten relic that she had only put on today, or if it was worn often. He could not tell.

"Emmaline." As the word left his mouth, he knew he was done for. This meeting had been a mistake, he could see that now. However, she looked so hopeful, so happy to see him. Him, the one who had hurt her more than he had any right too.

"Sherlock." She said again, feeling the word once more on her tongue.

"Sit down, please." He offered, walking around the table and pulling out the other chair.

"Thank you." Emmaline sat down as Sherlock pushed her chair in for her, and sat in his own.

He wet his now dry lips, as he looked across at her, unsure of what to say. They had been apart for so long, and his calling had been impulse. He should have left her alone, she was better without him. Cleary she was – she looked healthy now; no matter how those phone calls had sounded, she was clearly beginning to move on with her life. He knew that he looked nowhere near as well adjusted as she did.

His hair had gotten longer, unruly, his cheeks were sunken, and there were bags under his eyes. He wondered if she could see it, or if she was looking past it. Sherlock drummed his fingers nervously against his thigh hoping she would say something first, he had no idea what to tell her.

"I'm sorry, for all of those calls. It was inappropriate." Emma blurted out, hating the silence. She was here to talk to Sherlock, not stare at him wondering if either of them would ever speak. The sooner they got past the awkwardness, the faster they could get back to being friends; she hoped.

Sherlock looked taken aback; he had never found her messages 'inappropriate'; in fact, he quite often could not wait for the next one, just to hear her voice again.

"It's not a problem, Emmaline. Really." He assured her.

She smiled softly and his heart stopped; he could picture her face, her smile a thousand times, and had in fact done so, but he could never get it quite right. The real thing was breathtaking.

Their waiter walked over to the table and placed a menu down before the both of them.

"I am Jean; I will be waiting on you today." He introduced himself. "Would the lady like tea?" He asked, turning his attention to Emma.

"No, she will have coffee, black with two sugars and milk." Sherlock told Jean automatically, just as he always had when ordering their drinks at their little café.

Emma looked up from her menu and smiled. She nodded at the waiter and Jean scribbled it down as he walked away.

"You remembered." Emmaline said, her tone of voice causing a small smile to grace Sherlock's lips.

"Of course I did; I remember everything." He rolled his shoulders and picked his menu up, trying to brush it off.

Emmaline smiled; knowing Sherlock for so long came with its perks. She knew him, and his body language. Of course he had remembered the way she took her coffee – he probably remembered everything. Just like she did.

"Do you still only eat fish and chips?" Sherlock asked as he perused his menu.

"No, I've expanded my eating out choices." She told him.

"Oh?" Sherlock cocked a brow and lowered his menu.

"I will have you know that I tried bangers and mash last month, and that I have tried haggis."

Sherlock frowned. "That's not English, that's Scottish."

Emma laughed, just as easily as the old days. "It's still in the U.K. Sherlock so I think it counts."

He smiled shyly and looked over at her. "I suppose it does." He picked his menu back up. "So what are you getting then?"

"Fish and chips." She replied, setting her own menu down.

Sherlock let out a burst of laughter that he quickly stifled with a hand over his mouth. "You haven't changed at all." He said wistfully.

Emmaline smiled, accepting her coffee from the newly returned Jean.

"Do you know what you would like to eat?"

ᶓ

"This was fun Sherlock, I had a good time." Emma stood up, checking her watch.

Sherlock had told her about his cab, and the cabbie would be becoming impatient; it had been two-and-a-half hours instead of the promised two.

"I should be going, but…let's do this again." Sherlock requested carefully, wondering how Emmaline would take it.

"Yeah, let's." She agreed. "There's a bowling alley across the street; we could meet there?"

"Sounds wonderful." Sherlock said.

They walked to the entrance of the pub and Sherlock held out his hand while Emmaline held out her arms for a hug. She blushed and looked down, holding out her hand as well.

"Sorry." She said before shaking his hand.

"I just…I don't quite know if we're there yet." Sherlock responded sadly.

"It's OK, I get it." She said looking up at him, her eyes squinting in the sunlight.

"I'll see you on Saturday then Emmaline?" Sherlock asked, taking a step closer to his cab.

"Yeah, Saturday." She pulled her keys out of her bag and waved goodbye, getting into her car.

As they both drove away, they were unsure of what was beginning again, but they knew it was something special. Sherlock leaned his head against the cool glass window and closed his eyes. She looked just as beautiful as ever, his Emmaline. And he had shaken her hand; what a fool thing to do. He was so disappointed in himself, but unsure of how to fix it.

He just had to make sure that she would want to see him again, after bowling. Every Saturday, that was how they would do it then. He smiled to himself and looked down at his lap; he had missed her. But know there was nothing to miss because she was back in his life.

The phone call may have been an impulse decision, but Sherlock was sure it was the smartest thing he had ever done.

**A/N: Sorry that it has been so long since I updated! Got a job, started college, lost my internet, so now I can only update at school! Not to mention that writing their reunion was hard and I am still not satisfied with it, but I think you guys deserve something. **


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